it hurts until it doesn't

Dear K-

I think about death sometimes. We’re writers: it’s what we do. I try not to focus on it too intently, however. It tends to make me stall out. I freeze. I get anxious all over and then I feel empty.

I cooked dinner for a man this weekend. It made me feel useful. He asked me what I was looking for in a relationship. I told him I was looking for someone I could list as my emergency contact. He smiled, but I wasn’t really joking. I smiled back, though, because it seemed like the polite response.

The night before, I drank a lot of scotch and worked very hard to finish up a piece of writing. I was worried that if things work with the relationship and I become happy, I wouldn’t be able to finish the piece. It’s hard for me to write when I am happy. Everything just seems like drivel. There’s no fire behind it. I’m sure whatever I wrote is god-awful, but at least I got it out there. A stark skeleton is better than a wisp of air. At least I can put flesh on the skeleton, if need be.

Of course, I’m not happy. So I guess there was no need to get drunk and rush the conclusion. The date went well, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it feels like God is playing a joke on you. In the last two weeks, I’ve had no less than three ex-boyfriends reach out to me, unprovoked, and ask if I want to meet up, talk, hang out, grab a drink, etc. I had a different male friend surprise me with multiple gifts, all of which were thoughtful, but again, unprovoked. It stresses me out. It makes me want to stay indoors and not interact with anyone for a week. What comes to you as a prison sentence, a fever that immobilizes you for days on end, is like a sweet relief to me. Sometimes all I want to do is disappear for a spell.

I think I need to become a ghost for a while. At least until things quiet down again.

-k