This afternoon I ran my first errand since the breakup. Left a metal cart idling near the entrance of the pet food store. Remembered that the last time we went shopping together he rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated. “You are the worst store customer in the entire world.”
So here I am. Again.
121. “Clearness is so eminently one of the characteristics of truth, that often it even passes for truth itself,” wrote Joseph Joubert, the French “man of letters” who recorded countless such fragments in notebooks for forty years in preparation for a monumental work of philosophy that he never wrote. I know all about this passing for truth. At times I think it quite possible that it lies, as if a sleight of hand, at the heart of all my writing.
Two more days until Mexico. Have left off The Omnivore’s Dilemma to read several hundred pages of poetry, fiction and nonfiction for the feature meeting this afternoon; swilling coffee and taking copious margin notes. It has been so hot the past few days. The animals loll around and it is impossible to use the stove. I should get another fan. I haven’t been to a party in weeks.
Everything is about to change all over again.
What are my legal rights when I kiss you. Did you ever kiss me. Did you like it. I liked it. You were mythic and I was your bride. The required saline is missing.
One of my ex-boyfriends proposed to his current girlfriend IN A STARBUCKS.
I don’t know. Most days the whole world makes me want to die.
Hanging all my hopes on Summer!