That's why

Sometimes I have tiny fantasies that people are sending each other links to my blog saying, "hey, you should check this site out. It's just a dude whose wife recently ditched him and he just talks about pain and shit and it's really depressing but in like a Woody Allen Manhattan sort of way. You know tragic but hilarious." I also fantasize that my parents read my blog and know that I use foul language: the unacknowledged moral crime in my family. Every one of us has a dirty mouth(except my father who is thoroughly pure) but since my mother is mostly blissfully and willfully ignorant of this we never mention it and we all tame our tongues around her. She inquired one time about something my brother wrote on the internet where he said fuck several times or something equally shameful. "Do you use language like that?" My youngest brother had recently visited me in Omaha so our colorful conversations were fresh in my mind. "Well, I'll put it like this, when I get together with my brothers we all tend to get rather salty." This brother I get salty with is now engaged to be married to a lovely girl with her masters. He is 21. Mazel Tov.

Anyway, I need to find new contexts for my pain. Or at least for the painer. I, the painee, need to submit her to a series of experimental reconceptualizations wherein she will take on the form of just any one of the people I know who does not cause me pain. She is living her life and her new context for me is one of bemused disinterest with a tinge of sentiment that I can only assume causes her guilt and is therefore rejected outright and quickly. Of course now I am just speculating and it is not fair to paint her in such a light. But even if I do move on to someone who will actually love me and appreciate me and see me as not an obstacle but a conduit to more fuller living I will never be able to remove the deep, deep grooves of scars that did not have to exist at all and were once freckles of joy.

This makes me feel better.