|new old more book profile blog rings host|
Fifth sentence of my 23rd post (June 11, 2000): "So then I get to nag and bitch and it doesn't feel terribly enlightened."
Yeah, well, some things never change.
Feel like I could really use some love right now. I'm OK--there's nothing wrong--it's just uggggghhhhhh.
Every so often I run a Google search on my ex, Brian. It's stupid and obsessive but I haven't made myself stop. I know why I do it. It's important to me, in some way, to confirm that he's not doing better than I am. I used to think that it was about professional success, but after he achieved some measure of professional success with his writing, it didn't really bother me.
Writing I can share. I think I'm better at it than he is; maybe I'm wrong. It doesn't matter. There's something else I have that he doesn't have--not as far as I can tell, anyway. Something more precious than writing success. Something he said he always wanted. Something we almost had together.
I feel like the Wicked Witch of the West, watching him from afar, surrounded by flying monkeys.
Tonight I discover that he's been busy. Now that it's two-thousand-and-FIVE he's decided to make a blog. All of two entries and I'm knee-deep in the perfumed swamp of his prose. Everything is romanticized beyond comprehension. He is the Ricardo Montalban of letters.
But all I really want to know is this: Is there a child? Not yet? Good.
It is wrong to feel this way, but I do.