Tuesday, January 22, 2008
What kind of fool am I, that you so easily set me aside
Last night, a friend forced me to leave my house and away from the haven of my couch and America’s Next Top Model reruns to meet her and some other people in Williamsburg (that’s Brooklyn for you non-New Yorkers) for dinner. After dinner I hopped into a cab to head towards another area of Brooklyn to meet up with another friend. As the cab got onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, I started to get a panic-y feeling inside me. I knew exactly where I was. It was a route I had taken hundreds of times previously in the passenger seat of Oscar’s car, from my house to his. When the cab turned onto the Prospect Something or Other Expressway, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I sat in the back of that cab and sobbed.
When the cab drove within 100 feet of Oscar’s house, I practically doubled over with the pain that seared straight through me.
I wanted to tell the cab driver to stop. To turn right, to drop me off at the familiar driveway. So I could go inside and scream at him. Scream at him for not caring, for making me love him and for never even giving me a piece of his heart. I wanted to beg him to explain to me why I wasn’t ever good enough.
I wanted something, anything, to make this pain bearable.
I haven’t heard from The DJ since he called a few hours after he sent The Text Message, a call checking to make sure that I received the The Text Message (I didn’t answer, he left a voicemail).
And I am spent. I am beaten. I am broken.
For the first time in years, I don’t know if I can pick myself back up again. I don’t even know if I want to.
I am making plans. I am talking of therapy. Of being more diligent about going to the gym. Of joining Weight Watchers.
But all of it feels just so exhausting.
Today's Title from: Fool of Me by Me'Shell Ndegeocello
