I feel too much nothing.  Like, I speed by a cop car on the 190 and it pulls out behind me and my heart has no reaction at all.  None.  That’s not normal.

I believe we are all putting stuff out there all the time.  I don’t like the word energy.  I dunno, more like blood.  If you were shot in the gut, you’d look at it, trying to assess what was coming out of you.  Right?  It’s like that.  When you’re wounded, you pay more attention. And you notice.

Like, I lie in bed waiting for sleep and wondering about meeting people more than halfway and how that does both of you a disservice in the end and my last thought is ‘I can’t imagine what a man could do to get me to so much as cross the street now zzzzzz’. I take a walk the next morning. In my town, the center street is dotted with signs, it’s a rule, light or no light. 

I stop at a corner, and a giant Denali pick-up stops for me, but the oncoming traffic the other way doesn’t stop, and so I shrug and signal for him to give up and drive on.  Instead he throws the truck into park, jumps out and walks in front of oncoming traffic, a car screeching to a halt inches from his legs, the car behind her screeching to a halt inches from her bumper, etc.  He bellows at the line of cars, CAN YOU NOT SEE THE WOMAN CROSSING THE STREET?!  And then he gestures for me to cross, like ushering me through a door.

My father has left WI and has not arrived yet here.  He hangs mid-way like a ballistic missile.  For all the bane of my existence that man has been, he is old now, and loves me almost as desperately now as he did so badly when we were young.  I have to create a soft landing.  He is dying 10 different ways at this point.

I go the liquor store, the big one, with double ups and the big scotch selection.  He says he wants scotch when he arrives, so.  I pull up and get a prickly feeling.  I look around and nobody is there, the lot empty.  I shrug it off, but.  I whip through the store, walking fastfast like I always do, go down the end by the scotch and bourbon.  And then I know.  He has been here, IS here even.  I whirl around and could swear I feel him as clearly as when someone walks up behind you.  But there is nobody there. (He must have been there recreating one of our date nights with the other one like he does for God knows what reason God damn it.) But it’s like a deep stab into my stuffing, which feels as if I am stuffed tight with shards of glass, I can almost hear the hurt.  If he had been standing there, even with HarryPotter-Lynn standing there too, I might have thrown my arms around him hard for a moment.  And that would just not be good.