Mark has left in a huff - a depressed, passive "I want to keep it to myself" huff. He will return momentarily and feign having worked it out and loving me and "I'm just confused and sad".
This is my guess.
I don't know what precipitated it.
I could guess that attention wasn't properly made to the loving gestures he's made: meals ready when i walk in the door, love, sweet things to say, loving glances. I could guess it was because I walked in the door and announced that I had looked at my first apartment. I could guess that it's because it hits him all of the sudden.
I am not rich. Is my pain less because I'm 'the dumper' - the fucked up one - the instigator - the sayer of obvious things? I don't know.
I feel numb. I am waking and sleeping and earning and floundering and grasping at gestures and walking on my toes and falling on my nose.
I don't know what I'm doing.
We have never communicated well. We are great when we are both happy and OK with it all.... other than that it's a see-saw of
But, again, I don't know. I have just taken a bath to 'vespertime'. I used the pumice stone and thought of that fabulous custom of yore of foot washing to the visitor. I have scrubbed my face with the brush jane gifted me. I have used the lettuce soap I read about in the health magazine mother gave me. I have teared up. I have watched the L word and thought about mike and his different - but similar - tale of the lesbian world in which he lived when I kicked him to texas so kent and I could dissolve alone.
I am fucked up.
It interests me that your life manifests the thoughts you have - your body manifests things. You are miserable, down and sad - your body grows a shell because you eat. You are stressed and unsure but keeping the face on - and spots grow on the left side of your face and nose (thank you jane for the potion to keep them at bay).
On this selfless simplicity finds the darkest pit in me.