The story so far:
xvii – in her absence
Waking up in the morning feeling refreshed from a nights sleep that was longer than 3 hours. In fact, it was seven. Thanks to the help of a little sleeping buddy called valium. And his distant cousin beer. I told my Doctor I was stressed out because my Mother had a stroke and my Uncle was hit by a train and my best friend’s dog killed my pet spider.
He didn’t care. Doctors don’t care about you. They just want to prescribe you medication. And so he did. Just a little something to help me relax.
I stepped on the scale when I was there and I had lost eight pounds since my last visit. That was a week and two days ago when I came calling because I had a mysterious disappearing rash on the palm of my right hand. Oh, and I also picked up some Vicodin for that pesky imaginary toothache that I couldn’t get a root canal on until my Dentist was back from his Hawaiian vacation. I wanted Percocet. But my Dr. doesn’t listen.
I’m drinking much less than I was. A single beer a night. Maybe a shot of whatever I grab first out of the pantry. I have also been going for long walks. Sometimes I wind up at the store talking to my buddy Josh who works there. But he gets tired of hearing about Alyssa. Sometimes I wind up in the pool. Floating on my back in the late afternoon sun.
I’ve even been doing sit-ups and lifting free weights. After only a week of this, amazingly I am starting to show some definition again. My body is responding.
I’m thinking more and more about not writing these pathetic chapters for this 30 days project anymore, and getting back to work on that novel that I’ve been putting off for the past few months.
I no longer instinctively jerk my head toward the window to see if boyfriends red car is coming around the corner. I no longer set my TV volume so low I can barely hear it just in case I might miss her knock on my door.
I’m only going through a pack of cigarettes every two days instead of two packs every day. And I’m eating fresh fruit again. Not that canned ****.
I did my dishes yesterday. Took me over an hour. I first had to do the ones on the right side of the sink so that there was a clear path to my disposal. Then I did the left side. Then the dishes piled up on the counter. Then the ones in the living room. Then the ones in my bedroom. Then the ones on the balcony.
Yes, I do have a dishwasher but I don’t use it. It’s a moderate form of punishment for allowing myself to sink so low.
I am better than those dirty dishes. I am better than that black ring around the inside of my toilet bowl. I am stronger than the smells of rotting food that permeate the air each time I open my fridge.
These messes cannot define me. Her absence cannot ruin me.
Sometimes I manage to go for an hour without thinking about her. If it’s a good episode of Bones or an exciting baseball game. Sometimes I can even masturbate without imagining her, although admittedly I still call out her name at climax. (But I’m working on that)
Sure, my senses are dulled. My emotions blurred. My expectations of life watered down. Thank you Dr. Feel-good. But I’m recovering. I’m rehabbing. I’m not letting go and I’m not about to stop. But I am learning to yield.
And at least I’m not making you sick to your stomach telling you about how much I miss the most magnificent, down to earth, sincere, angelically beautiful, sultry, and unique woman in the history of my life. Right.