I've been drinking again, something I seem to indulge in more and more in my off time. I don't think Linds has noticed yet, at least I hope she hasn't. That's what I choose to tell myself, what I choose to believe. I don't think I can make much sense of what I'm saying right now, the beer has taken the edge off my good sense. But is that the truth, can I blame my current state on beer? Should I turn this reflection towards myself and question what I've been allowing myself to do when I'm not at work, when I'm supposed to be a mom. When I'm supposed to be this woman called Catherine. I don't know if I could stand it, I loathe what I am. So usually I indulge myself, and keep as far away from Catherine as possible.

Today, however, is the first time in a long time that I'm spending my afternoon alone. Usually I find myself some company, anything to not be the only one in the room. But today I decided to stay home, and it feels like I'm coming out of my skin. Was it always so? I can't remember anymore, and I can't seem to muster up the nerve to care. I should drink some more, I need the nothingness of oblivion. I've had maybe four beers, and know I will drink the remaining four in my fridge before sleep finds me. I can feel the numbness on my tongue, spreading out sweetly to mask my senses. I want so much to mask myself from those horrible senses, my feelings. From myself.

And there is my problem, I want escape but cannot seem to find my way towards freedom. Regardless of my actions, I remain caught in this reality without him. I know I sound pathetic, and part of that is because I'm a little drunk, but the other influence is my genuine unhappiness. Unrequited love, have you ever heard two more hateful words? I know I can't think of any. I should be used to it by now though, but as the years go on I feel his absence from me in any real sense more keenly than I ever have before. You know, maybe I don't really mean absence; perhaps I should define our relationship in terms of distance. As the years go by we are becoming more distant from each other, and the prospect of what could have been - perhaps should have been - is also becoming a distant, tormenting memory.

Should I explain a little more, has my semi drunk state caused me to begin my story half way through? Well, if I were to start all the way back at the beginning then it would take too long to tell. What I will say is that I have feelings for my boss. My friend. Or my used to be friend, I don't really know how to define what we have now. Maybe the best word would be nothing, because it seems to be what I mean to him these days. And don't I just hate how completely pathetic I sound? I would hate for Gil to see me like this, because then he would know that I am who I used to be again. And I seem unwilling to change that.

It's been a long time since I've been afraid to be alone, to be in my house with nothing to shield me from the silence. Well, okay, maybe the beer is doing a little shielding for me... But for the last weeks, months actually, I've been spending time with strangers to make me feel nothing and something all at once. It's become a comfort and a crutch, and I don't know how I am ever to find my way out of this strange compulsion I have given in to. But I am trying, for him.

So today I stay at home, I chose to break my date with my latest stranger. This stranger I've been seeing for the last few weeks; this man I have shared my time and my body with . I can't tell you much about him, as he could not about me, for hotel rooms are not for discussing family and careers; we meet to examine each others skin. But it brings me no relief, only the presence of this incessant voice which is telling me to stop. I want to believe it's Gils' voice, but that can't be true. Communication between us is so bad that I know he would not be able to get through to me in this way. So I need to find my own way out.

If that is what I really want.

And that's the question I've been debating, should I just give in? Should I accept that I am who I am, and it's okay to be defined by my actions and not the absence of a love affair. I don't know... I don't know much of anything anymore. I suppose today is my attempt to find out answers I don't want to hear. The main subject I refuse to address, is my longing for a man who has no room for me in his life. And that description makes him seem unkind, which couldn't be further from the truth; but I wanted to communicate that he and I seem unable to fit our lives together. Even if at one point I'm sure it was our mutual intention. I think I disappoint him too much, which I can understand completely; I disappoint myself more than I could ever say. Again with the unattractive self pity and self loathing, I really need to stop drinking in the afternoon. At least I'm not working tonight, I can spend time with Linds and sleep until my brain functions again.

Anyway, so I'm sitting here considering all that I am, and all that I have lost. And the truth is I am not a bad person, but I am a person who needs to share her life with someone else. And when I think of what I've lost I'm conscious of the the feeling that I've lost nothing more than an imagined connection with a good friend of mine. So maybe I should just get over myself and get on with my life the way it is. Is it okay for me to move from casual relationship to casual relationship if that is what I want, or should I spend my time alone and wish for a life that is not mine? Who knows... And I've been looking for answers in some strange places today, and I don't mean in the touch of someone elses' skin. I've been reading poetry... Really.

I have this book of poems, an anthology a friend of mine gave me one Christmas. And I can't remember if I started reading it because I like the words, or because I wanted to relive a time when Gil thought of me as a woman he should give poetry to. Anyway the words are wonderful, even if I don't understand all of them. I mean I understand all of the words, but it's in the function of them being constructed into complicated sentences that I am a little lost. But I like the images they paint, the thoughts that are stimulated in my brain. You know sometimes when you're feeling down and it's fun to listen to sad songs and pretend there are answers in the melody; well today the answers are in poetry. In language outside of my head, which is where I'm happy to deal with complicated words. I can see myself in these words, pretend that my problem is an eternal one; that it was ever so that people hurt each other like this.

I have a few favourites where I allow myself to believe the poet was writing just for me, and further imagine that maybe I was supposed to read them today. Words like this:

"He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop the full Music on -
He stuns you by degrees-"

Now I'm not exactly sure what the author meant with these words, but I love the feeling she evokes in me with the mere act of placing them in sentences together. It's actually quite a hot poem, and I'm pretty sure she's talking about a fun time she might have had; which I can certainly identify with. But it's the first line which pulls at my heart, and makes me yearn for someone who is not mine to yearn for. When I think of Gil I think of myself in terms of having a soul, and that depresses the hell out of me. I sound like a woman I would hate under normal circumstances, but then I wouldn't be reading poetry if these were normal circumstances. But the mention of soul speaks to the romantic in me, and reading about sex speaks to the Catherine in me...

And then I wallow a little, read words which make me think there is a nobility in the sorrow I'm inficting in my own life. There is not, of course, but I enjoy the words while they construct and maintain my fantasy.

"You wake up, and you do not know
where you are, or who you are
or what you are..."

I think this poet speaks to me again, maybe she saw me one afternoon while I left my rented room. Because I have felt like that, I have woken with someones' hand on my skin and had absolutely no recollection of how we ended up there. It was my story, my 'thing' when I first moved to Vegas, it was how I found my way to Eddie. But I escaped that, I ended up with someone else. Not really, because Gil and I have never been a couple of course, but there was escape, and I found my way to something better. But somehow I have found my way back towards this part of my life, not completely, but enough. I wake up with strangers, and one of them is me.

I look at myself in the mirror and I don't know who I am, my eyes have the same hollow appearance from years ago; but no one seems to have noticed, so maybe I've always looked like this. So I go out with men, have dinner and flirt a little, sometimes more. I want them to tell me I'm beautiful, I want them to tell me what they see when they look in my eyes. I actually asked that question the last time I was with, well the last time I was with the guy I'm wasting time with. His reaction? He laughed and told me words which were not very flattering, and I left. Never ask questions you don't want the answer to, I should know that by now. But maybe I was right to ask, perhaps it will force me to make the break I need to. Perhaps.

I wonder about the response I would receive if I were to ask this question to Gil, I wonder this too much. I want his approval and his affection, so I run from that feeling and take what I can from those who will not look at me and be disappointed. Sometimes it's enough. Or it was...

I guess all this self reflection is about the end of something again, because whatever I've been pursuing, it's not enough anymore. I read something which reinforced this to me, or maybe I've just been turning poems into fortune cookies.

"Love is a universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason."

I believe that to be true, have done ever since I met him. I wonder if Gil would be as freaked out by that knowledge as I am. Probably...

I wish it were not so, I wish I could go to work tomorrow night and smile at my boss and have him smile back. His whole face relaxes when he smiles, it does something wonderful to his eyes and I could believe that everything will work out. Not for us, I don't mean that, but I can convince myself that he will always be my friend and all that has estranged us will be forgotten. It's a nice wish, but it's not going to happen anytime soon. We've become too much like strangers for that, except I could never take him to a hotel like all the others. And it's truly my loss.

So I sit here and read my book, searching for the story of my life, looking for clues to tell me how to live a better one. I have found one which I perhaps identify with the most, one which encourages my melancholy, not that I need much encouragement these days. All of the words, all of them, fit me perfectly. I wish I could read them to Gil, ask for his opinion and his help.

"Ah, in the past, towards rare individuals
I have felt the pull of desire:
Oh come, come nearer, come into touch!
Come physically nearer, be flesh to my flesh -

But say little, oh say little,
and afterwards leave me alone.
Keep your alonesness, leave me my aloness -
I used to say this in the past - but no more.
It has always been a failure.
They have always insisted on love
and on talking about it
and on the me - and - thee and what we meant to each other.

So now I have no desire any more
Except to be left, in the last resort, alone, quite alone."

I don't want strangers anymore, I know that much at least. I want someone who does not want me back, and I don't have the guts to do anything about that. I don't have the guts to leave him behind, so I choose alone. I don't want the affection of someone who is not him, that's just something I'll have to learn to deal with.

I'm not sorry for my life, my choices; I'm sorry for his. I'm sorry that he has never felt that he could choose me, that I was enough. And I'm sorry that I drank all that beer, and for my maudlin ranting.

But I'll never be sorry that he owns my soul.

THE END

Quotes From:
'315' EMILY DICKINSON
'MAKING LOVE' SHARON OLDS
'SYMPTOMS OF LOVE' ROBERT GRAVES
'DESIRE' DH LAWRENCE