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.It's been almost three months.I feel apathy.At least, I think it's apathy.Maybe this is what the acceptance stage feels like.I know I can't force Kevin to love me and stay with me.I still believe we could have a wonderful life together, but I know it can't work when only one person feels that way—This is ridiculous.I felt like I was Twelve-Stepping through Failed Relationships Anonymous.Hello, my name is Annette.I'm an obsession addict.I minimized the journaling screen onto the task bar and logged online to AOL to receive my daily dose of positive reinforcement.The electronic voice announced that I had mail.Tangible proof that either someone loved me, or they were offering to increase the size of my penis.It wasn't spam; it was an email from my best friend from seventh grade.My gal pals still rallied around to support my break-up recovery.Chelle did what she could from 80 miles away.That was the beauty of the Internet, keeping friends connected, one urban legend at a time.I clicked the Read Mail button.Nettie,I hope this helps, even just a little.Call me anytime if you need to talk.Love you like a sis,~ Chelle :-)She sent me an attachment that opened to an essay about why people come into your life.For a reason, a season, or a lifetime.I'd seen it circulated in emails about a year ago.When I first read it, I knew Kevin was my lifetime.Now after reading it again, I saw that I was only a reason to Kevin.It was my purpose to help him recover a sense of himself, get over his brutal divorce, and refocus his passion for golf.A convenient transitional woman to pick him up, dust him off, love him unconditionally, encourage his dreams, and then be tossed away like a semen-stained tube sock.I'm not bitter.I'm realistic.Okay, and maybe occasionally prone to acts of sheer drama.I know Kevin was my season: it was my time to learn that I was capable of feeling so much love for someone and giving so deeply.That thought helps me cope sometimes.Everything else is emotional autopilot.Josh peeked his head into the room.“Mom, aren't you going to be late for work?”I glanced at the clock on my computer monitor.“Yeah buddy, I'm going.Thanks for reminding me of the time.”Josh went back to whatever he had been doing and I scrambled to get ready to go.I was supposed to be at work and dressed to go on stage in two minutes, but hadn't even taken a shower yet.I'd learned to deal with the fact that the hours slipped away whenever I thought about Kevin.But no one who really knew me ever expected me to be anywhere on time anyway.I'd already decided years ago that when I died, I'd have someone bring my body to the funeral late so everyone would know they were at the right place.I picked up the phone and dialed the club.After nearly twenty rings, Sunshine's sing-song voice greeted me.“Hey girl, tell Nate I'm running late, but I'm on my way.”“Naaate!” I heard her yell over the din of the music.“Beth's calling to say she's running late again!”“Okay, I will!” Sunshine laughed when she turned back to the phone.“He told me to tell you only to call-in when you're going to be on time.”My Dilbert-Inspired Tip of the Day: The easiest way to maintain personal freedom is to nurture the boss’ low expectations of you.Of course, there is also something to be said for being virtually unemployable outside of the strip club scene.speed limit? what speed limit?Wednesday, January 23With the convertible top and windows down, we rode the air currents like waves with our outstretched arms.The 241 Toll Road lay wide open in front of us, while Josh and I played in the wind.The faster I drove, the more wildly our arms whipped and bucked.With my left hand and Josh's right, we could almost make the car leave the ground and take flight.WHOOP.WHOOP.A siren chirped.I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the flash of blinking cherry lights on the dash of a black and white patrol car.Then I glanced down at the speedometer: 85 mph.Shit.“Uh oh, Mom, you're so busted.”“Sit still and shut up,” I instructed as I pulled to the side of the road.“Can I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance?” The officer's face was a stone mask.I leaned across Josh and dug through the glove box looking for the paperwork.I turned the entire stockpile upside down: fast food napkins, CD cases, hand sanitizer, tire gauge, and citrus body spray.“What's your name, son?” the officer asked.Josh looked at me as if he couldn't remember his name.Don't look at me! Look at him!“Uh…Josh, sir.” His eyes fixed on the officer's holstered Smith & Wesson.Sir? When have you ever called anyone sir? Excuse me, Officer, there is a pod person wearing my son's Etnies.“Josh, do you think your mother deserves a ticket?”Josh looked at me as if he didn't know what to say.Don't look at me! And you better say no or you are soooo grounded.“I think you should let her go.I'll make sure she doesn't drive fast anymore,” Josh said.That's my boy!I handed the officer my information.He took a cursory glance and then handed it back to me.“Slow down and drive safely.”“You too,” I said.“I mean, thank you.”Yes, thank you! I don't have to waste another Saturday watching that goofy Mr.Walker/Mr.Wheeler video in traffic school again.hand in the cookie jarThursday, January 24It was a long time to go without one.At least three months—maybe more like three and a half months.I wasn't even sure I could do it.I stared at the ceiling.Maybe it would work if I closed my eyes.C-o-n-c-e-n-t-r-a-t-e.Clear your mind.Relaaaax.Tune in to each and every sensation.This is stupid [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]