Stuart returned this morning looking quite hung-over and more than a little over-sexed. I almost kicked him out. Instead I rinsed his toothbrush in the toilet and left without a kiss.
I turn my hatred inwards, dear reader, but sometimes it runs amok. I imagine how it would feel to stab him with a fork. I wonder if Kate Middleton ever has such thoughts. Does she ever gaze across that expansive table and think, “If only I could hurl this 15th century ivory-handled steak knife into William’s pasty white throat, severing his vocal cords, so that I would never have to hear him laugh like that again”? I wonder.
Tomorrow the country celebrates their love. Today I think, I wish I could sleep through tomorrow. I celebrate this goal. Toward my goal, I have begun drinking whiskey. Thirty minutes ago I switched to shots. I’d like to make a toast. I drink to my oblivion. Stuart is out with our turtle masseuse. He thinks I will never know. I know he will never think where his toothbrush is headed next.
i hate who i am when i'm with him reader. i really do. i really really do.
I called Stuart to share our news: I’m pregnant with his baby. I heard him tell the secretary he wasn’t in. I went by his work. He snuck out the back. I called his mobile. Berit, whore du jour, answered.
“He died,” she said.
“Bitch, do I sound lucky?” I said. She hung up.
She called back from a remote location. I knew she would. Her kind always does.
She asked what I wanted. I asked what she wanted. She asked again. I repeated myself.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “With Stuart’s child.”
I hung up. I called back. “Me too,” I said.
She hung up. She called back. “No you’re not,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I know you,” she said. “I’ve been you.”
She hung up. She's not pregnant, but will be. Just as soon as her period is over.
But enough about her. Why is my life so difficult? All I want is a man to love me. And our unborn child, come to that - if it must.
Last week, my mother was institutionalized after finding my father in bed with a dog. I had her committed. Yesterday I discovered my worthless father is having an affair. The only thing wrong with my mother is her vision. I left her in the asylum on principle.
My brother joined the army. Two weeks later he went AWOL. In our parent’s basement. I bring him food under cover of darkness three times a week. I would never survive a women’s prison, but what can I do? He’s family. (Supposedly.) I've given until I'm empty.
Does anyone consider Seonaid? I'd end it all if I thought someone would find me in time to pump my stomach. Such anxiety beats in the heart of every single woman. Still, I feel alone.
I could be pregnant with Stuart’s child. If this were a just universe. I curse each egg that succumbs to the relentless and bloody ritual of menstruation. With these ovaries, this uterus, I'm destined to die alone.
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