(no subject)
I’m not too sure about all this. There’s something off in your life, you know, baby, when surgical tape, gauze and a razor take precedence over your lover. He put me here in the first place. Here. This mental state. He fucked me over. Emotionally. Physically. Everything. And I gave him everything. Oh don’t get me wrong. He gave me things too. Deep red heartaches by the dozen. They’re collecting dust among the roses. He used to tell me that my drinking bothered him. It wasn’t right. Fine for him, or so he claimed, but never for me. There are thirty-nine roses resting in empty wine bottles. Empty. I had nothing to do with that. And, as usual, if it’s not one thing, it’s another
I was drinking close to ten hot caffeinated beverages daily. If it wasn’t strong coffee it was black Indian tea. I drink tea and coffee the same way. I make it really dark. Really dark, and really strong. Then pour in enough milk, whole milk, until it’s about the color of sand. Add three parts sugar. Stir. Gulp it down. Embrace the initial shock. Get back to work. He said it was going to kill me if I kept it up. A different he. There’ve been a lot of them. I was gone for a while. We kept in touch, you know how that goes. Called every night. I was out under the stars. Lying among mosquitoes and weeds. When the bugs got me, I lay down a towel and sprawled out on the cabin ramp. When he got to me, I hung up the phone. It’s late, almost midnight, I have to get up and cook at six. It’s late…and the caffeine is wearing thing.
Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
.....to be continued....