Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

  • Mood:

why?

Why do people keep writing to Enrique at my e-mail address? Don't they know how much it pains me to be reminded of his leaving, even all these years later? And what does it mean that he'd sent so many inquiries to Web sites about Viagra and Cialas? Did he have a problem with our sex life? Was it unsatisfying? And then there's this Hoodia product he keeps getting messages about; he apparently placed some orders before he left. Did he have an issue with my weight? Is that why he disappeared and never called again? He never said a word about it while we were together, but I get his e-mail now and the question plagues me, keeping me up late at night, at 2:33 a.m., pondering the meaning of life and Rodney's lips. Which isn't directly related, but these thoughts do occur. And I blame Enrique, who apparently also went by the name "Mario" and "Shawn" and carried on clandestine love affairs with available singles in his area, a whole secret life I never knew about.

Life is pain. Life is tragedy and a dwindling pile of cookies and the plaintive, distant cries of a stranger floating to you through an open window late at night--"Rondo! Man! Where the fuck you goin'? What're you at? I gotta piss, man. C'mon."

Thank god I have FreeCell and the DSM-IV and Sarah McLachlan to see me through the dark times like this. And by dark I mean "2:41 a.m." Because I am over Enrique. He can keep the $18,000 he owes me for his liposuction surgery. I wouldn't take him back now even if he came crawling up to my window in the small hours and drove his fist through the glass and then fell inside, bloody and stupid, and made a mess on my floor. Sure, okay, I did that *one* time, but he was reciting T.S. Eliot. It seemed charming then.

But now it's time to sleep. For as the great John Ashbery says, "Thus it was the laborious leopard pirated more than one freedom hymn. / Kettle boils, not urgent."

Kettle boils...not urgent. So very very true for us all.
Tags: wittering 2005
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