So..

On my way home from the train station I realized I needed to buy cigarettes. I am always slightly ashamed of buying cigarettes, I feel as if I am buying heroin laced with ivory muled here by one legged children. There are three gas stations near my home that sell my cigarettes but one, the one closest to me and most convenient no longer receives my business as I believe they were party to the theft of my bank account a couple of years ago. So really, there are only two that I patronize. I realized, as I was headed in their general direction, that I had been to the next most convenient one recently to purchase my smokes and therefore, I could not go there today - because it would mean, as interpreted by the clerks, that I suffered from an addiction. That I was a smoker....Now, having worked in retail, I know that I rarely sat in judgement of any of my customers. I simply wanted to get the next person and then to get home, or off with friends, or anywhere but behind that register...Why is it that I presume to be so fascinating or note-worthy that random clerks actually think more about me or my purchase? Am I so self-centered? I hadn't thought so....until now.....

Anyway, as I stood in line to order and pay for my cigarettes I got stuck behind one of those women...those women I abhor...she was purchasing about $273 worth of lottery tickets, rattling off numbers, changing their order and getting impatient with the befuddled clerk all while carrying on a conversation on her cell phone. She punctuated her conversation with heavy sighs, intended to express her displeasure with the service. At one point, she turned to me to give me a look, imploring me to agree with her...I stood impassively staring at the display behind the counter that offered chapstick, mouthwash and condoms - all the makings for a lovely evening. Finally, the clerk tallied the woman's order, only to have to repeat the total for the woman at least three times because she was still carrying on with her phone conversation, peppered with vulgarity and slang. The words all mushed together in her mouth before tumbling out. I couldn't actually make out much of what she was saying - only those words that she actually bothered to enunciate. Not that I really cared but the mouthwash and condoms were now boring me (that was not my evening ahead) and the ice cream cooler at my thigh was too tempting...The woman then proceeded to rummage through her purse, pull out her wallet and count out the money, all in ones...she made a big procession of ensuring that each dollar was just that, a single dollar - no Siamese twins, she pinched the corners of the bills between her talon tipped fingers and rubbed them together...the process was arduous but I remained stoic....just staring vacantly...this time because a song began to play....

I wondered why the tears were welling up in my eyes...this song, I don't even recall what it was, didn't mean anything. It wasn't "our song" - not that we had a song. One of the serious deficiencies of our relationship, at least for me, was the complete lack of romance. Traditional romantic gestures were always trivialized. Believe me, I am not some sap tuned into Love FM all day long but there's something about holding hand in the rain - not intentionally, not "Hey, its raining, lets go hold hands" but that moment when you're walking with your beloved, unexpectedly it begins to rain and, yet it hardly matters. S/he reaches over and takes your hand and you continue to walk..in the rain....I digress. So there I am, standing in the gas station, brought to tears by a less than memorable love song...wondering what the hell was going on? What was happening? I knew I took the crazy pill, which is actually the anti-crazy pill...so what on earth was all this??? Its not like someone died, I chastised myself! And then it struck me...

Someone had died....

I was mourning.....

I died...When T left, the me I've grown to know and be comfortable with died....and I was left, a lone mourner, standing vigil, graveside....Everyone is pretty much past the comforting phase, not that they shouldn't be, but life has moved on. When I didn't have the nervous breakdown most seemed to fear, they sighed with relief and moved on...I mean they still say things like "Well, with all you've been through" and "It's no wonder, with everything going on as it has" when any little thing is awry, but the urgency is gone and they're mentally composing grocery lists as we converse....

So that's it....Now being that I believe things often work in a cycle, I am brought to the thought that there will, hopefully, be some sort of birth...a new me...hopefully improved...but probably still as freaked out by spiders and being buried alive...But I don't know when that will happen..and for now, I am in some sort of in-between place..so lonely because I am gone...The me that I lived with daily for over four years...four very formative years - I've always been a late bloomer....and now she is dead and I am left waiting for the birth....It is my hope that gestation isn't too long and that I will emerge from my cocoon with Monarch wings...we shall see, we shall see...

On a lighter note, this interim me is in love...with an imaginary man...I know this sounds laughable...and ok, so he's not totally imaginary and it's more like lust or longing but nevertheless its there and when I think about him, which isn't often but isn't infrequent, I sometimes smile....I know, I know, it sounds stupid and it is stupid - I promise, I know this - and while I may daydream about stalking him while waiting for the freight train to pass and let me get on to work, I know that I will not stalk him....I might email him but it will be business...but when I email him, I will smile...and for the moment, this makes me less broken...


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9:30pm

Every so often, Mary calls me...It's usually about once or twice every few months...And while Mary calls me, she doesn't actually mean to call me. She is trying to reach her niece, I believe the niece is named Ann/e....And when I don't answer the phone, she leaves me/Ann a message, even though my voicemail clearly states my name, which is no where near Anne...Anyway, when Mary does reach me she becomes quite confused..Mary says we sound alike, me and Ann...She tells me this pretty much every time we talk...as if it's some how kismet - we sound alike so it shouldn't be so odd that this occurs....or something like that....Then, she becomes a little irritated, insisting that she dialed the right number. She says this in an accusatory way, as if I've hijacked her nieces telephone number. She asks if I've had my number long and I say for over 4 years (or three, or two - when the calls began). She usually sniffs at this contemptuously as if I am lying...And then she goes back to insisting that she dialed the right number...and then we go over my number (this is not my real number): 807-555-6295. She always says that, yes, this is the number she has dialed and I always say, well, this is my telephone number and it has been. This is where we usually end the call because we've reached a stalemate. Neither one of us willing to budge...Mary called tonight, but because of a bizarre slew of calls I've been getting from out of state numbers, I've stopped answering any number I do not immediately recognize.....I should put Mary's number into my phonebook so I am sure not to answer when she calls....Unless I begin to miss her and then I can answer and we can dance.....