2010-04-04


It is zombie day and I am alone.

I am taking this opportunity to catch up culturally. I am reading Edith Wharton. I might paint. All I know is I'm alone, it's rainy, and I don't have to do a damn thing.

Everyone thinks I'm with Will. And no one even bothers (thank god). I've given him a lot of shit for his antics but god I am blessed. He is the man for me.

And I have given up on looking for a friend to replace Renata. My substitute best friend I acquired from work is a liar on a deeply patholigical level. It is bizarre.

I am playing boroque, which I used to not like, but I get it's grim notes.

Focus is the lesson of the year, which I've certainly applied. I finally launched an art-website. I've established a mailing list. And I have tangible goals. Painting is for monday, Sunday is for me and my husband, and every other day while I'm at work I talk about myself and my art, promote promote promote, and wait for the paintings to dry.

My friend, when asked about her pick-and-choose process of friend-making, simply put if she can't love them she can't be their friend. It has been fruitful advice.

My pattern, however, when I'm trying new things, is to be extreme. In taking my friend's advice, the cold shoulder has been turned on the pathological liar, her Eastern European friend who I'd always been pleasant to, and anyone who simply annoys me. My energy level is always on the brink of exhaustion. It requires less to be cold.

I miss Renata every day. Wondering when I'll ever get over it, if ever. Wondering why it had to happen. Wondering why it's my story and infinite sadness.

I have gorgeous amaryllis. I have three dogs who slept with me in bed last night, all curled up against me. The light through the screens cast glimpses of my beautiful life in the pitch black room. After all that has happened with Renata, my life is so beautiful anyway.

I just miss her.

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