Guilt for the Wicked

I hurt someone today. I broke his heart. He came over and told me he loved me, to give him another chance.

I said I hate him, that he had fucked up. That’s a lie. I said that so he could get over me quickly. So he wouldn’t miss me when I’m not there to wrap my arms around him while he sleeps or kiss his cheek to wake him up.

This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. His grandmother is dying. Considering he’s never met his father (let alone knows who he is) and his mother died when he was nine, his grandma is damned important to him. And you hurt him even more, Jess.

ARGH! Why do I feel this much guilt?! He really did fuck up. I don’t like him like that anymore… Shit, I’m getting soft. I used to hurt people for a living. I never lost any sleep over it. Now I tell a guy I don’t like him anymore and I feel like a hippo is wiping its ass on my chest. Time to move on, Fizz. You’ve felt sorry for yourself long enough. He should feel bad, not you.

Onward and downward, I guess.

This Goodbye is Forever

My first big love got married. I’m going through so many fucking emotions right now. I don’t know how to deal with them. I’m either drinking or sleeping. Drinking currently, obviously.

I’d be happy if he was with someone he loved, but a guy doesn’t fly to Baltimore to see his ex for shits and giggles. I think he wanted me to tell him to stay. 

I slept with him. Not fucked. Just slept next to him. Jet lag is a killer. I remembered his smell; it was the same. I held back the tears. I knew it would be the last time. I didn’t want to ruin it.

Do you love me?

Of course. Always.

Can you say it…?

I’ll love you for always.

I drove him back to the airport and then laid in my bed, holding the pillow his head had rested on and breathing in his scent. It was the only thing that really proved he had actually been there.

I slept on the sofa that night.

And then I washed my sheets in the morning.

I’m numb. Jameson’s, my sweet James… You won’t marry Jose Cuervo, will you? He probably will. That’s how my life has always played out. Even my booze can’t stay.

I need to drink more. I’m starting to think of the house, the children, the love, the life I could’ve had with him. All gone. Fortunately I took a minor to the liquor store, and, honestly, who shops better for cheap booze that’ll fuck me up? The owner, a Korean man I call Uncle, gave us a free bottle of Absolut. 

Thank god. 

It’s the little things…right?

Goodbye, Seamus.

Batten Down the Hatches

Something bad is coming.

A foul thing is on the wind, and I don’t know what it is.

I miss my grandmother. She could read these things, give them form, and send warning. Most of the time she’d just let things be (Buddhist monks and they’re pacifist ways, I guess).

This feels like… like something irreparable may happen. A damnation, worse than death.

I’ve told Alex and Abe to watch themselves.

I’m scared.

I wrote that yesterday.

I had a vision or something just now. I know it sounds fucking crazy as shit, but it happens from time to time.

I felt Michael hurting and then he was gone. I don’t know how to explain it. But it was bad. I felt something similar when Grampa died. It was frightening and I deeply regret not calling him when I had the chance.

I’m scared. I want to tell him to be careful, but I don’t want to sound like a lunatic or break his wish for space.

I hope I’m just going off the deep end or something. I don’t want him to be hurt.

Just please, please, please be okay.


My father called this morning. I told him what I saw and felt; I know he’s had similar experiences.

I felt him leaving. It was so bad and awful.

There isn’t much you can do, Koog. When I get that feeling, I just tell the person to be careful. Tell him to take care of himself and then try to brush it off.

I keep staring at Michael’s GChat icon. I want to click it and say, “Be careful today. Watch your six, and take care of yourself.”

I can’t do it for some reason.

Leap of Faith

It’s like taking a leap of faith off the edge of a cliff.

Everybody jumps. Maybe they don’t take a running start. Some may toe the edge, looking at the chasm below. Some may hang onto that edge, grasping fingers slipping, crying out in terror. But there’s something great over that edge.

Why are they scared if there’s something great?

Because… the ground isn’t what’s great and that’s a constant. The ground is pain and agony and certain death, much like how falling off a real cliff is.

Then what’s the good thing?

Sometimes…sometimes… something catches you. And you don’t hit the bottom. Something will catch you and maybe it’ll help you land softly. But my, oh my… those of us who haven’t jumped can sometimes see the people who have leapt soaring off into the horizon, far from the earth.

You still haven’t told me what the great, good thing is.

You have to jump to find out.

Have you… gone over the ledge…?


What was it like?

It was like… Like falling from grace… Nothing caught me.

But falling is an accident.

Ah… but I dove.

Anna, you cunt

They say there are two things you should never witness in your lifetime. One of them is seeing your mother cry. I think it should be extended to little brothers.

I saw Alex cry. He was wrecked. Torn. He’s one tough son of a bitch, but to see him like that… He sniffled; I put a hand on his back. I felt the hurt. A piece of my soul withered. 

Some cunt curb stomped his heart. If I ever meet this girl, Anna… I’ll ask her if she has a strong belief in the afterlife and if she needs to get right with Jesus or some other deity. 

Alex would’ve moved heaven and earth for that girl. Burned, bled, and gone blind for just another chance to be with her. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to make her suffer. Only an act of God or a call-off from Alex will stay my hand. Nobody gets away with hurting my family.

He told me last night he had a good idea of how I felt towards Michael after all that shit. God, I hope he doesn’t.

The other thing they say you shouldn’t witness is seeing the person you love fall in love with someone else. Alex can scratch that off his bucket list.

Like Water Through My Fingers

Something always happens. I guess it’s not all bad, but I seem to be the only one left alone, waiting. Hurting.

I clear the picture, new spectacles for his face. He sees what he has to do with this new perspective. He sees I’m not needed. He leaves. I hurt.

I soothe his wounds. I lay his head in my lap and tell him he’s safe with me. I accept him and pass no judgment. His ex calls. She’s left her fiancé. He goes back to her. I hurt.

He says I’m his first great love. He says he still loves me, always will. He asks for my address so he can send me a wedding invitation. I hang up the phone. I hurt.

It seems I’m never enough. I want so badly to fit, my head cradled in someone’s arms.

But there are no arms, nothing to catch me.

I fall to the floor. I crash. I break. I shatter.

I hurt.

On the brighter side of things, I seem to be the female version of Dane Cook in that movie Good Luck Chuck. I’ve never seen that film; maybe I’ll watch it while I’m snowed in.

Let the Pain In

My little brother and I are both hurt. I hosted a fucking-crazy-wild surprise birthday party for our friend Rachel last night full of alcohol and smoke and debauchery, but the pain, at least this kind, can’t be washed away.

Alex: I don’t know what to do.

Me: It’s still fresh. You’re in the hurting stage. Sounds shitty, but sometimes you just gotta hurt.

Alex: I’d rather cauterize the wound.

Me: If you figure out how to do that, you’ll be a rich man.

Alex: I’d take five minutes of pain over five months of grief.

I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but it’ll be more than five months.

I still hurt.