Wednesday February 16 2011

I wake up to the sounds of Kenneth making racket in the backyard right outside my window. I’m thinking of you. I can’t fall back to sleep now. Putting on my ipod listening to Lali Puna and Postal Service, and other electronic indie pop stuff of the like. Hoping this will drown out the backyard noises and lull me to sleep. In time….zzzzzzz.

DREAM: Waiting on the street in front of my house. I hop into a car. It’s a green Volkswagen station wagon, like an older 80’s model that I’ve never heard of. Sitting in the very back where the cargo space is. The ceiling interior is a soft fuzzy blue and the floor and sides are a soft fuzzy green. There’s a tall skinny black dude in front of me in the back seat—wearing a big black hoodie and baggy blue jeans. An older black couple in the front—man driving—woman in passenger seat. Maybe they’re the parents. I introduce myself to the skinny dude, “Hey how you doin?” We shake hands but he doesn’t seem to really release our grip even though it’s quite a loose one. He returns the friendliness. I call out to the man driving, “Hey! Excuse me. Could you drop me off at the studio up here? I forget what street it is but I know it’s coming up on the right.” I look outside the window and watch the city pass me by. The urban landscape is quite impressive. And the sky is foggy and hazy with a yellow orange glow. There’s a particular building that catches my eye. I take note in my head to return here and take a few photos. The skinny black dude chimes in, “F Street.” He knew where the studio was. “Yeah, that’s right,” I thank him for remembering.

Waking up at 6 p.m.

I think I’ll start back on a normal diet today.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.


Margot and I take a trip to Target. She’s browsing for clothes. I find a shopping cart full of flower bouquets leftover from Valentine’s Day. I grab some pink roses and give them to her.

Her: “They’re dying.”

Me: “Yeah, it’s symbolic.”

Heading over to the food aisles. Holding hands. She discovers a roll of Hello Kitty stickers. I remind her how many Hello Kitty stickers she already has and that she doesn’t need to get that. I secretly put it in my basket and buy it. Getting into the car, I toss them to her. “Oh, that’s sweet. That’s really nice of you.”

As we pull up to the house, the song “Blood” by The Middle East starts playing on the stereo (from the mix I made her). “Turn off the car but leave this playing please.” I just wanted to sit there with her and listen to those beautiful melodies. I wanted a physical soundtrack to the emotional beauty I was feeling. Of course, I get teary eyed.

Making Annie’s Cheddar Cheese Shells for her. I’m still not hungry yet.

Playing with the dog, Diamond, whom Kyle is watching just for the week. She’s desperate for attention, the dog that is. We bring her outside on the street and toss a squeaky ball around.

In my room Margot tries on three dresses she just bought today to see which one is my favorite. “You look good in anything, baby. You look good period.”

Sharing a bottle of Governor’s White Wine and starting the movie Breaking Upwards [2009], kind of appropriate because it’s about a couple that mutually strategizes a gradual break-up. It’s entertaining and funny at times, but at some point I just pause it, so I can pay attention to her. Spooning and forking our bodies. We kiss and kiss, with such intensity, with such longing, especially on my end. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you like that before… good.” Shoveling my tongue directly on that sensitive spot on the left side of her neck. She’s responding. Moving my hand into that scared dark ravine of hers. She’s moaning in pleasure. I feel useful. I want her to feel good. I want to make her happy. This makes me feel more in control.

After a lot of warming up and momentum she finally says to me, “I want to have sex with you………but this has to be the last time.” I ask, “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I don’t think we should but this is the last time.”

After thinking about what she said, my little guy is only slightly able to stiffen up. On Valentine’s Day evening, we had a moment similar to this but I had absolutely no blood rushing down there. The sadness and emotion was too overbearing. After she gets on top of me I’m workable. I really wanted to savor everything I could—her striking shape and curves—the rhythm, pulse, and beat to her movement—her Indian face that appears so gratifying—every cell on her soft caramel body—even her shadow displayed on the wall. My nervous hands compress on her back and side. I make sure to endure a while. It’s a wondrous exchange of ecstasy.

Me: “What do you want me to do now?”

Her: “I want you to let go.”

We continue. And I finish. I finish like I’ve never finished before. My cheeks raise to a smile, maybe it’s an agonizing smile. I’m notorious for laughing afterwards. But this time it’s sobbing, it’s weeping, it’s………“Baby, I love you so much. I’m so…close…so close to you…so deeply connected.” She’s still sitting on me as I continue to whimper and cry. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. I did this in hopes I could prove something to her, that I could remind her how good we are together—thinking she would remember our passion. I know she does, but it’s futile to expect the same anymore.

I complain later about how I feel like she’s just catering to me and it’s not genuine. She assures me, “Baby, I care about you. I want to make you happy. And I want to help you.” I’m tempted to call it charity, but I know she really cares and that’s important to know.

Giving her somewhat of a lecture on how I don’t want to see her make mistakes with people. I don’t want to see her be taken advantage of. I want to protect her. And again, I can’t handle even the thought of her with somebody else. Man, Robert, just get over it. This is useless. It’s time to be productive and come to grips with romantic separation. Here we go…………………………………

So much for a normal diet.

Showering—noticing my stomach is flatter.

Chowing down on a little bit of Cheddar Cheese Shells. Can’t finish.

I don’t ever want to love again. I will love life. I will love. I do love. I love. But I do not want to fall in love with someone again. It’s unproductive. Love is ridiculous.

Text from Becca: “I hope you are ok. This is just a shitty week for everyone. I think we will all make it past this and look back on it detached from our current state.” It’s true. I know I will, but the question is, when?

Newspaper route. I stopped doing the Chesapeake route and started one in Virginia Beach, way closer to home.

Snacking on a Pear.

Margot was right about sex being a bad idea. I knew it before she said it. Now I feel worse than I did before. I’m sickly. I feel broken. That moment—it was beautiful and horrible at the same time.

I think I’ll have cereal. My stomach is grumbling in defiance. My milk has gone bad so I take a walk to 7-11. It’s after 7 a.m. and it’s daylight. Smoking a Sampoerna cigarette and rebelling against the pain I’ve been experiencing all day. Talking to myself, I just need to get out, hang out with my other friends, start running again. I need to get back into the excitement of my life. I know I can do it. And I will. Feeling hope and trusting in the great healer that is called time.

Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Brown Sugar.

Running errands—bank—mechanic.

Sleep 10 a.m.

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