My permanent melancholy state. A tattoo in my eyes. The obsolete mechanisms and modalities I carry with me. Even with this heaviness in my heart, it is still possible for me to appreciate the changes I have made recently.
An undisciplined life is comforting. The chaos anchors, just as often as it thwarts. It is familiar, so I stay for the show. It is familiar, so I run, knowing it will hurt me.
I continue to attend Al-Anon, and have even chosen a sponsor. She is a very small woman, with an even smaller voice. Catherine, but call her Cathy. At over fifty years of age, she continues to possess a hypnotic sensuality. We walk together, and I know men look at her, ignoring my existence completely.
Cathy tells me it is to my benefit to forget Matthew, and I agree. It is why I could not confess my feelings to him. Instead, I gave him a series of books on Arthurian legend.
In an effort to move on from whatever I have convinced myself I feel for Matthew, or to extract what I do feel for him, I went out on a date with Virginia’s brother Guillermo. I find that I want to love him, because he is exactly the type of man one is supposed to dream of. Oh, that he is kind. Oh, that he is gentle and attentive. Oh, that he is handsome. All these things mean something to me, just as much as they do to any person with half a brain, and a beating, red heart. But all I feel is such a tenderness, as one would feel for a child.
I think that I could force romantic affection, if only Joseph’s whore would stop shouting at me, every time she sees me. It is difficult to concentrate with so much noise.