June 29, 2007

• This is, without a doubt, one of the letters I write you which will remain unsent.

  It was the worst birthday I’ve ever had.

  Other than the fact that Beau is drinking again, I spent several hours in the emergency room while he was in surgery for drinking-related injuries.

  But something else I couldn’t wrap my mind around: he confessed that his ex had made contact with him about a month ago and they’ve been talking on the phone since. She flew up and they had dinner together – that night when he told me he was “going up to Chico to get some photos for the project” and would have to stay overnight. He borrowed a friend’s car, apparently, and drove up to San Fran and they had a steak dinner together. Loverly, isn’t it?

  I’m pushed to the threshold of tears every time someone asks me if I’m “ok.” What the hell do you say to that? No one really wants to know what’s going on – they’re just being….. polite?…. nice?….. whatever….. Should I tell them that no, I’m flat broke – again! – and any money I’d saved up to go back to school is just gone – gone now. Should I tell them that for my birthday, I babysat an injured boyfriend who had forgotten my birthday and had considered leaving me for an ex that set a live cat on fire. Should I tell them that despite all the warnings and precautions about my medication, I’m drinking too now – trying to match Beau swig for swig because drunk numb is better than grieving numb.

  Mickey, you should have just gotten a gun and shot me.

  • 12:20 pm
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