I used to be so overwhelmed with my thoughts but now, most days, I just feel empty. There is nothing to write about anymore and I find myself just going through the motions of “life.” My notebook is stagnant. And a part of me is afraid of finishing it, writing to the last page, because I am not ready to let go of those memories even when they make me so incredibly sad. I can’t shelve it, I have to carry it with me always.

Excerpt: Page 18

The beginning. The beginning of writing about him, of trying to explain how I felt, of hiding my crazy from his eyes. I wrote this backwards on November 4th and immediately taped over it with a “missed call” sheet. I didn’t reread it, I tried not to think about it. And a few days later, right before things happened between us, when we were still just friends, he won a bet from me and I let him take my notebook back to his office to read the pages that came after, forgetting this small piece of backwards writing was even there. He called me right before he held my notebook up to the mirror in the men’s restroom.

I scanned pages 17 to 36 of my notebook today. Also known as November 2011. And as I stood there, flipping page after page, my heart was beating too fast because just the thought, the memory of what was in there, what I was retelling and the ghost of his hands flipping the same pages, reading the same lines I had written about him, it was almost too much. It’s always too much.

Excerpt: Page 132

I am sick of questions.

What are you doing?

What are you reading?

What are you eating?

What is that?

Are you ok?

Is something wrong?

Where have you been?

What are you drinking?

Why do you look nice today?

What is your necklace from?

Is that a kindle?

Is that your natural hair color?

Did you do something different to your hair?

What are you writing?

Is that a diary?

Aren’t you not supposed to eat cheese?

What are you looking at on your laptop?

Are you sure you’re ok?

-Jan. 31, 2012

Currently: The Shining

currently.

Currently

You taste so bitter

Excerpt: Page 93

I’m at work and I wonder if I will ever survive all this. I forget about him over the weekends. I forget to think about him. He’s always there but he’s not at the same time. Then I get to work and I see him in his office and I can hear his laugh (that fucking laugh I love so much) and I feel like I am falling apart again. Everything with KG tortured me for years yet I survived when I got fired and he moved away. Does that need to happen again? Does RC need to get fired, do I need to move away to survive all this? Or will I still be writing about him five years from now? I don’t know how to feel any other way anymore.

Goddamn it, please stop walking by me. Please. Please. Please.

- Jan. 02, 2012

Currently

I think these past three months have been the longest of my life.

Tomorrow is a new day I suppose.

-Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez