As I was recovering from one of the 70,000 inevitable fights with Ned that I've had over the last five years, I asked him, "Do you feel like all the time there's this black, gaping maw of despair inside you, and all the time you're looking for distractions to avoid the maw?"
"No," said Ned.
That is when I emailed Daniel Boone, who I still talk to from time and time, and here's why.
Me: Do you feel like all the time there's this black, gaping maw of despair inside you, and all the time you're looking for distractions to avoid the maw?
DB: Oh my god, constantly. Doesn't everybody?
The point of my story is, I've been at the mouth of the maw all week. This is the longest I've ever gone not seeing Ned (37 days, but who's counting?), even though we broke up a year and four months ago. Which in case you wanted tips, breakup tips, from June, is NOT A GOOD IDEA.
Tip #1 From June's Breakup Book: Do not see your ex just all the time. Do not think, Hey, I'm bored. Maybe I'll see a movie with my ex. Maybe I'll see the dick of my ex. Surely I'll get over him if I do that.
I know. You can't get this kind of brilliance just anywhere.
Anyway, so there's that, and also there's the part where I'm having this EMDR therapy, which, you know, look it up. The point is, it's supposed to work fast, but the day after you have it you may feel a little weepy.
Heh.
ALL I DO IS CRY. ALL THE TIME. I am so sick of myself I could puke, but I can't because I'm too busy crying. I cried at work all day Friday. All day. I tried to make this subtle, and went to the fire escape when it got too bad. No one noticed but Austin, who by the way had sent me an email earlier in the week titled, "Are you busy this weekend?"
Oh, yay, I thought, opening the email, feeling adored.
"Can you dog-sit? We're leaving town."
The point is, Austin noticed his dog-sitter was blue. "Is everything okay?" he asked, a local kennel on speed dial. "Do you want to go talk?" So we stood on the dock, the dock of the workplace, watching the time roll away. I told him my woes, and he was reassuring, and then I went back inside and cried.
Seriously, it's getting annoying.
And I know you mean well, but do you know what I don't want? Emails, texts, messages, IMs and so on. I know you want to be all sunny and encouraging, but I'm just too depressed to write back. And if you're thinking of writing me, a hundred other people reading this are, too, so then I'll feel guilty about being too depressed to thank everyone, and just, you know, smile fondly right now and be all, Oh, June, and we'll be good.
Fortunately, I had something to do Friday. Took my tear ducts out on the town. There's a guy here who wrote a great book called Trunky: Transgender Junky, and he read from it at our bookstore. My coworker Molly knows him, BECAUSE SHE KNOWS EVERYONE ON EARTH, and after reading his book she was inspired to write three songs that as I listened to them I thought, I want to download these all right now. Right this minute. I want to go home and listen to them constantly. Then I felt a tad weepy.
When it was over I turned around and saw some of my coworkers in the crowd, who you can see were delighted to see me and probably wonder if I'm busy because their pets need sitting. Anyway, we sat together afterward for awhile and talked, which was good and I think I didn't cry that whole hour.
Afterward, I fulfilled my dog-sitting obligations with a dog who abhors me. Seriously, that dog was Carin as a dog. Remember that reader Carin who hated me? If this dog knew the Wi-Fi password at her house, she'd have logged on and left a scathing comment here. She'd have unfriended me on Facebook. She'd have signed me up for stupid email subscriptions like my hater. Oh my god, did that dog bark at me. She followed me around so she could bark at me. She'd leave the room and come back, appalled that I was still there. And then she'd bark.
She gave no shits about my gaping maw. She wished I'd fall in.
That dog. Not a fan.
Iris: no one gives shit about gaypeeng maww, mom. Lily: we totlee over it
On Saturday, I got up with one of the Alexes and we meant to go to a movie but it was sold out, and REALLY, Greensboro? Go find something else to do. So then we went downtown, not in a euphemistic way, but literally, and I had to shield my eyes from the Ned-house pass.
The point is, we went to this new bakery, and the good news is at the back of said bakery is a speakeasy. You have to know the code to get in. A large, lovely man of color was just coming out of there, and we asked him the code, and he paused, like, Are they cool enough to know this? but then he saw my sad gaping maw eyes and gave it to us.
That speakeasy was magnificent. Oh my god, I love it. It's all dark, with big leather benches, and it's so clandestine. I want to live in the speakeasy. Speak? Easy.
Anyway, that was about it. I did note last night that Steely D and Edsel kept lounging in the same positions all night.
I sent this photo to Alex, who noted SD's straight pimpin' pose with his arm up.
Today I have no plans, other than laundry and some Tracy Anderson, that syphilitic bitch. I hope that you have plans far more exciting than that, and you're going to tell me about them in the comments so I can live through your whirlwind of a life.
Cheerily,
Juin
