Mix Tape

And still I'm not done with you.

I've been composing a mix tape for you in my head, as evidenced by the "soundtrack" to this blog, and today I started paying the damn $.99 a song to make the CD. I'm going to give it to you, I hope (and if I'm very courageous, I'll put Avenue Q's "Mix Tape" as the last song).

So, since I last wrote my life has been something out of a terrible German play. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. To sum it up, an old friend of mine (who also happens to be a fugitive) showed up on my doorstep with a terminal illness. My husband and I talked and agreed to take him in. Well, five days later, my husband called the cops and had him arrested. I promptly left my husband for this betrayal. I might have gone back to him, had he not then called all of my friends from school and told them that I'm a cult member and my old friend is the cult leader and he has me brainwashed into protecting him. I might be a cult member, but I'm not brainwashed. He also told people I tried to kill myself and some other stuff. He canceled the electricity and gas to my apartment and some other stuff. I can't even keep track of all the crazy shit he did (this all started six weeks ago, and just today I had to get the internet straightened out). In any case, he's made it impossible to reconcile. I have the divorce paperwork sitting next to me as I type.

You know most of this, because during our smoke breaks, I've been keeping you updated. You've been wonderful, listening to me blabber on. There were a few times when I thought I was being selfish and horrible because you have your own shit going on, too.

In any case, Jon, the last time we spoke was on Thursday, when I asked you if you'd like to have dinner. You said you'd txt me. You haven't yet, but I have hopes.

So what the fuck do I do now?

I never wanted to be divorced, but thank the gods that I am going to be. Because I'm free, and you know how desperately miserable I was. I begged you to be my excuse not to get married and you told me not to, but I needed another excuse (and thank you, thank you, thank you, Jon, for not saying "I told you so"). And thank the gods I'm getting divorced because... now I can pursue you.

Jon, I've thrown myself at you at least ten times. Maybe God kept you away from internship so that you could be here with me for another year, I don't know. I think that maybe he put us both at our site so that we could be there for each other. I know that you helped me, and maybe I helped you. It's been a hard year. So what are you going to do? What the fuck are you going to do?

I remember almost sleeping with you. I remember reading poetry to each other and crying in our drunken moroseness. I long for you. I have a genuine loathing of Facebook because your profile keeps coming up saying, "Reconnect with him." Jon, something has to change.

And, I suppose things will change. The second week of August, we'll be done at our site, and what will happen then? Will you be gone forever? I won't see you at work or school anymore. Will you just let me go?

Hope is what makes this all so hard. Hope.

I'm melodramatic, but I'm allowed to be. I found out today from the doctor that my inner ear condition has spread to my other ear and I'm slowly going deaf. But I don't even want to think about that right now. I'd much rather daydream about you.

I look forward to seeing you in clinical team tomorrow. Maybe you'll sit near me. Maybe we'll smoke afterward and I'll tell you the divorce paperwork is filled out. What will you do?

- M.