Posts Written OnApril 2012

I’m typing because everyone knows what will happen if I don’t. I’ll pick up the damn phone and I’ll press the stupid buttons and have a conversation that doesn’t fix anything and then cry until I’m ninety. It wouldn’t even be the right conversation. My prediction is this one: ME: Hi. HIM: Hi. What’s up? ME: Oh you know, I’m just sadder than the population of SadLand and I wish my face would fall off so at least the crying would stop. What’s up with you? HIM: Nothing really, just playing Words With Friends. ME: You did ‘her’ and then…

I used to dread Sunday night. Everything from 4pm onwards felt like winding down, and there’s nothing I like less than winding down. The feeling of inevitable endings. I used to fear that moment at about 7pm on Sundays when the nighttime crept around and I knew the weekend was over. That the next thing was sleep and morning and Monday and school runs and traffic and being late. I would sit on the couch and will Sunday to run a little longer, with my eyes scrunched up and all. It never worked; the clock just ticked louder and louder…

“I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.” Hang on, this isn’t what we rehearsed! Take it back! He’ll leave! “I can’t – I hate it. We fight constantly. When we’re not fighting, I’m just waiting for us to start fighting. Even when it’s good. It might even be worse when it’s good because I know that any minute it won’t be.” I’m not sure he’s really listening. He’s holding a book. The words have spilled out of me in an ugly, clumsy dance. What I meant to say was Gaz, something needs to be done about this relationship,…

It’s a funny thing, being too depressed to write. And by ‘funny’ I mean ‘so horrifically unfair and devastating’, P.S. I write much better about the sad things when I’m not sad (though it usually takes me a couple of days afterward to feel anything resembling unsad). When I’m this depressed, this is what my writing looks like: OH GOD THE RAIN IS FALLING LIKE MY TEARS PLEASE MAKE IT STOP So, not excellent. It’s 8:30pm on a Saturday and I’m in bed. I was going to watch television to make me less sad, but I accidentally listened to some…

This afternoon I met with Georgia’s teacher again, to discuss the ongoing friendship and social issues that she’s having. More and more, she comes home from school with tears in her eyes and with her little shoulders slumped and that is just not on. Part of me always hopes that her teachers will say, “No, you have it all wrong, she’s fine at school!” And sometimes they do, but today was not one of those occasions. “The other kids do tease her,” the teacher said, and my heart dropped into the centre of the earth. “Usually not right to her…