Bitch, I’m your landlord.

Tomorrow, I fly to California to drive the PCH with E, a somewhat spur of the moment trip that I’m eager for - it feels right to start the year with a new experience and an old friend and a journey.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

m: I just...I’ve been really good since I moved back. But today, I’m just full of rage for him. Rage and bitterness and disgust. k: It's because of the party. I knew it would probably be hard for you. I'm sorry. Not the same without you here.  m: Thanks. Yeah. It’s just really really fucking hard. It just feels like he doesn’t care. That’s why it is. Hanging with ____, having a party, living life. Because if he cared, how could he bring himself to have a party with - not just invite over, but literally have a party with - the person who broke up his marriage? I don’t care if it is _______. How could he invite over people that disparage the woman he supposedly loves/loves? But none of it really matters to him. He gets the life he wants. He’s “just trying to live [his] life.” I don’t matter enough to him , and maybe I never did. And it’s just really painful. k: I'm sure it is. I think some of it might just be more than he can face....especially the ______ stuff, but yeah, I think he just wants his life to be as ok as possible and not think about anything that would make it less ok. m: That’s weak. k: I hope tomorrow is better. 

i look forward to the days when this becomes my norm again.

Warsan Shire

But those questions aren’t fair either or if they are, they don’t matter anymore. What’s done is done. And I realized that if he called me tomorrow and said he regretted it all, that he was wrong, that he wanted to try again...I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t leave home, where I’ve started to feel whole again, where my family has circled around me and breathed life back into me, where I am single but never doubting that I am loved, if only because I have to love myself to be there. I wouldn’t step back to a man who I love more than life itself if it meant giving up on hope that life could be bigger than just us two alone, apart even together. That’s it’s own sort of awakening.

mentally: better. I still want and need therapy. But being close to home, feeling wrapped up by my family, has been so joyous. it’s been so good to be HOME - with my family, but also in familiar land and climes. I feel a measure of safety here that I hadn’t been able to access through all of this trauma, and that has helped me heal. Instinctively, I knew it would, but experiencing it is a balm. I feel peaceful. My anxiety is at a minimum. I trust my instincts. I feel better.

- Julie Yip-Williams

the movers came today. they packed everything in the truck. they’ll see me in LA on wednesday. I leave tomorrow. I leave tomorrow.m: this is so hard right now. the movers are gone. the house is empty. and I'm just overwhelmingly heartbroken. k: Oh shit. I am so sorry. That has got to be so hard to look at. Can you get out of the house today? m: no. I have to finish this grant. and I'm not fit for public. I'm just so sad. k: I hate this so much. Want company? m: I keep seeing things like the water heater we invested in, the thermostat. and it's all these tiny reminders of the life we made together that no longer exists. of all our plans. no, no company. I need to just get this out and plow through the end of this grant.I'm just so fucking sad.all I want is my husband. and I don't have a husband anymore.

horrible stress. bad call with my boss and his boss, trying to get a grant done under deadline, trying to be packed and do all the last minute things, trying, trying, trying, but not succeeding at anything. 

Lots of lasts. Last time at the bakery/coffeeshop I love. Last work session with K. Last time having friends over to the house - for a goodbye party.  There were just 5 of us, but it was 4 people I really wanted to see. I’d worried I’d invited too many people anyway, so it worked out. We spent 5 hours talking, eating, drinking. I only teared up once. It was nice to be surrounded with such love. 

And I guess, in some ways, that is true. Love makes you see the best in people. And when that image shifts, when the scales fall away, when you see someone at their worst, sometimes the ruination of that vision is too much to overcome. But I think there’s another kind of love, platonic love, that can bring yourself - or maybe your best self - into focus. Over the past few weeks, I’ve realized who I am to a lot of people (and am filled with gratitude for the caliber of people I’ve brought into my life, a well-honed sense of judgement that I can only thank my discerning mother for). That, balanced with having to face the complexities of my own loss of romantic love and facing myself, shed of excuses for my behavior, has been an enlightening experience. Here is me, with all my faults, my desire to skirt the blame, my sorrow that I let drag me down much too far because I didn’t want to acknowledge it, me who can’t accept that it can’t be fixed - but also me who loved people, me who has felt more compelled than ever to show kindness and thanks to everyone who has loved me, me who is fucking trying, trying very hard. I appreciate having an opportunity to see those selves by each other, who they are together, and how they could merge, be better than the sum of their parts. yesterday morning, I talked with a friend and mentor, and she shared with me that she had gotten a divorce at 25, after a 3 year marriage. “I’ve been married 32 years now. you have your whole life ahead of you. your life will be wonderful.” thank you, I said. I needed to hear that. 

I’ve learned a lot. In those first few days, my mind was a terror, so I read and read and read. I read about ancient england, and movies, and politics, and the south. I’ve listened to innumerable podcasts. I’ve studied genealogy. In some way, I think I forgot how much I loved to learn for the sake of learning, to do things just for joy of doing them and not for an end goal, a checkmark. It feels...indulgent, in a way that makes me a bit sad. I would like to get back to that point, where doing things I love for no good reason is just a way of being, and not a tally mark.