home. march 8.

flying home.

i'm more excited than i thought i'd be. i'm less nervous than i thought i'd be.

however, i did not sleep last night.

i literally listened to takk and ( ) play straight through once each. i know i fell asleep long enough to have a tiny dream, because one of the pieces of paper i taped up to cover a window fell and woke me up with a start.

the music was over, so i restarted it. listened to takk, and must've dozed off and had a nightmare about ever telling my parents just before i could. just blurted it out, as if they already knew.

and i woke up from that and started the music again.

and i didn't fall back asleep after that. i got out of bed while the music was still on.

it was awful. i can't remember the last time i had such a hard time falling asleep. or staying asleep.

i was tossing and turning with scenarios playing out in my head of how this whole thing is about to go down.

i don't have my rings on, so if they're paying any kind of attention, they'll notice before i even have a chance to tell them.

and if not, i don't plan to make it very far before telling them. not even off of airport territory.

fifteen minutes of details that don't need to be shared with the grandparents.

i should be more scared. but i think they're just going to understand.

and i can't fathom that i wouldn't be bawling, so that will make it easier to say.

what will i say?

'it's over. and now i don't know what to do.'

too blunt?

'i'm sorry i lied to you both. we decided to end this on valentine's day, and it killed me not to tell you, but i just owe it to you both to tell you in person. this wasn't an easy decision.'


'i don't know what to do. i think i need a lawyer. and i don't want one and i don't want to pay one. i think we have to sell the house in september to avoid being taxed to hell, and i don't want to sell the house.'

and then,

'i just had to break away and start over. i'm trying not to feel like a bad person, and this is not only because of not being in love, because i was willing to work through that. this was just two people who are unwilling to make sacrifices anymore. i have given all that i can give. i am wrung out and exhausted. and now i'm a 32 year old kid starting over.'


'by the way, when i talked to you on friday night and you asked what i was doing, and i said hanging out, that was a lie. i was moving out. i've been in my halfway house apartment for three days now. and i should feel more sad than i feel. i should feel devastated. and i don't yet. i know i will. but i feel free, in a way.'


'going to the house makes me feel sick. i can't deal with it. i will have to go once a week, at a minimum for a while, until i can get a computer and an external hard drive and not use the one i left there. until he teaches his intern to do all the things i do for him. and the thought of doing our taxes makes me want to vomit.'

because i could really use the $2900 i'd be getting back if it were not for him.

i think i should just finish them this week. and then tell him how much he owes for that.

i hate flying days.

i'm so nervous now. it's getting down to it. twenty minutes until i should leave. and that still puts me there a couple hours early. i wish i could do something else for a while. but i am too afraid to.

i was really getting somewhere with my writing last night. it hurt. quite a bit. i was incredible sad. fighting tears even as i wrote it out. and then, of course, after i wrote all that, and after kit left (she dropped off a book for nina), i pulled a classic tea move.

i grabbed the dream journal.

it is not a dream journal, that's just what it says.

it is the journal where i made my three life-changing mistakes.

the one where i turned down the sun. the one when i last spent an evening curled up with coffee. and the one when i met ever.

oh, those weeks in november of 2000. what i wouldn't give for a do-over.

and re-reading it every time makes me feel so sick over things i forget every time.

why was i so stubborn? he had his mouth in the vicinity of mine for hours. and i wrote that he couldn't just put his face there and hope i sneeze or something and kiss him. he kissed my forehead, even.

how could he miss my mouth by so much?

and here i sit. again. rehashing rehashing. maybe writing the memoir won't fix me after all.

in six hours i'll be home telling my mom and dad what my life has become. and now, coffee coffee coffee.

i am one sick little girl.

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