The Day I Bought The Dahlias

4 Oct

It’s one thing, friends, to treat me poorly. It’s quite another to treat me poorly and ask me to make you feel good about it. That costs extra.

The only person in this world who worries about me is my mother, because she thinks I’m stupid. And in that situation, the joke is truly on her, because she thinks she raised a stupid woman. I can’t imagine a greater failure. So there, Mom.

Tonight my friend Nealy asked how I was doing and it was the first time in, like, two weeks that anyone had asked. And I mean, I talk to people. I go out in the world. I have friends and a phone and sisters. I’m just not the kind of person you care about, is all. I don’t know why.

I mean, I’m fine. I working 6 days a month instead of 6 days a week but my bills are paid and I have good teeth and all that. I want for nothing. I need for nothing.

Today, I feel like I don’t love anybody that I used to.

So what I’m going to do is, I’m going to clean this whole scrungy apartment and wash my damn hair. I’m going to bake a birthday cake for Nealy (just the kind of friend I am, folks.)  On Saturday morning, I will go to the market and buy some dahlias.

After my husband left me, I hid up north in my parent’s guest room for the first few weekends. During the week, my day job kept me busy enough but when I had a whole day? I couldn’t do it at first.

But then I did, or felt like I had to. I went to the farmer’s market for the first time a while and I bought some goddamn dahlias. It was the first nice, human thing I did for myself after he left. I put them on the sideboard in our  my dining room. For five days or so, they were a reminder that I just needed to do one thing at a time. So, once more, I’ll start with the dahlias and go from there.

 

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