A Year Later
Surviving the con man, and I how I had conned myself into caring about him
This morning I rolled out of my four-poster at three like I always do, landing on the cool wooden floor of my now nearly-empty bedroom. I padded into the nearly-empty house, my footsteps echoing.
It’s remarkable how your belongings absorb not only your sounds, but also the energy that you emanate. All that I own, but for a few key things that I need to live on every day, are packed away downstairs. But for one heavy mofo of a wood piece, I hauled every single one of them into two almost-full staging areas. Loved the cathartic nature of all that work.
Today, two weeks from leaving for Africa for five weeks and two months from heading to Oregon to look for a new house, I took a moment to read my birthday entry from last year.
SHITHEEL DUMPED ME AGAIN.
The day I turned 66, I was battered from an awful, verbally abusive relationship. So much so that on January 13th, I had landed in the VA hospital with blood in my urine and terrible pain in my kidneys. The now ex-BF had moved to Phoenix, promising that we were still a couple.
When I landed in Indonesia on January 17th 2019, I woke up on my Big Day to get his twelfth breakup message: fuck you I found someone…
