It's been a difficult year. Not the worst I'll see or that you've seen, but harder than most of its predecessors. It's been a hard week, crying on the subway and, embarrassingly, to Bette Midler while sitting in a crowded room. It was supposed to be a joke - Jamie put it on at his going away party, and I was laughing at first and then I wasn't. I sat there and just...cried. I wiped my face again and again. Peony looked at me like I was making her uncomfortable. Who cries to 'Wind Beneath My Wings'? Well, me, I guess. It's alright, it was funny. We can all laugh.
Then, tonight I cried at the bar over an expensive Earl Grey-infused gin martini (real raw egg [white], can you believe it). James held my hands and I cried, and then we left and I got on the subway and cried, and then I got off the subway and wandered into the overpriced organic supermarket and looked at chocolate bars and cried.
So. I'm thinking that I will feel sad for a while. Most people don't understand what's so heartbreaking about a friend moving to the other side of the country. It's a bummer - that's what it's supposed to be. A major bummer. Something that 'sucks'. Buuuuut it feels more like heartbreak to me. I may as well say it. I took half a pill and drank some week-old shiraz, and no, this isn't going to be a chronicle of drug abuse and avoidance of emotions through blah blah blah, I'm just being honest. And fuck it, I thnk drinking week-old wine is funny. It's a little desperate, and I like desperate things. (When they're not truly desperate, just a little desperate, just a [safe] taste.)
Ehhhh, I feel alone. (Welcome to the world, sweetie!) - I just imagined some old Maxine-type character hacking that at me through a phlegmy smoker's throat. Welcome, indeed. Day one. Of how many.
