A tiny little snip of a woman was taking membership cards as I walked into my gym on Saturday. She was probably around twenty-two years old, and was talking to a big (and fat) personal trainer. Fat preachers piss me off—as do fat personal trainers. She was normal and average looking—nothing unusual. As I walked away, she was telling the man how she can’t wait to go into the homicide program, how she feels the death and trauma would be good for her—how she needs to see human bodies cut in half and mutilated—all said in a matter of fact way—not trying to be shocking or dramatic, just stating a fact. It was a day that I was rather furious and could actually appreciate her desire. However, looking back, it’s one of those things that make you stop and say, ‘really?’
My anxiety is escalating. I’m doing a pretty good job handling it, for the most part. However, the flashbacks and reliving certain moments of a year ago are getting pretty rough and I’m not quite able to just shut them out—maybe it’s genuine or maybe I’m calling them to me—at this point, I can’t really tell. I can’t wait until Saturday and Sunday are over—the year will be over and hopefully, I can start to heal more. Hopefully. I’m trying to make a plan of what to do on Saturday and Sunday. I don’t want to have a date. I don’t want to have someone spend the night (I know, I know—TMI, you’re used it). I don’t wanna hang out with friends. I don’t want to completely ignore it, nor do I want to set aside those days as a holiday of pain and abandonment and heartbreak. I think I wanna leave town. I have those plane tickets for $50 anywhere, but then I have to pay for food, hotel, car, parking, etc. And I have no business spending money of any kind. I am hoping my tax refund check will come through this week (which is tons less than last year—not sure how that happened). I need to use it on paying off some debt and fixing some house stuff, but I think I will use it to get the hell outta dodge. We will see if it comes through. The only bad thing beside the money is leaving the dogs. I really want to be with them this weekend. However, I can’t be at home, and sleeping in my bed on the 17th, remembering him holding me as I was crying last year—then being at my house seeing us packing up his things before his friends came to get him is too much to ask.
Even though getting out of town probably can’t happen, spending the weekend in a tattoo parlor sounds pretty great too. (Don’t worry, I’m not allowing myself anymore until I get published, just saying).
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago