People In Hell Want Icewater
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Sort of like my own private flu vaccine, and you can't have any


October 22, 2004 - 8:23 p.m.

I have been in a very distant and thoughtful mood the last couple of days. Melody has been sick, an illness she seems to partly blame on whatever stress I put her under. Me, I have now lost eleven pounds from what could call the stresses. Strange thing is, we both seem to worry about each other in a very genuine way, and both of us in IM and email admitted that we miss the good things.

Neither of us seems willing to admit the truth: we dread the idea of going back out there and starting from absolute scratch... her with some guy who lives with his aged mother, me with some woman trying to recapture her twenties, and not well.

I miss her. I offered to grovel. I offered to cover her BMW in roses (something we both agreed would make a huge mess). I want to be with her. And she doesn't want me.

And maybe I shouldn't still want her. But I do.

I tried today to inoculate myself, to remind myself just how many other beautiful, smart, talented women are out there. I resubscribed to Match.com and emailed no fewer than 26 attractive, smart women. Maybe I am hoping that one of them will distract me, convince me by example that Melody was small, petty, not worthwhile.

But not one of them caught my eye and my mind the way she did, and still does. While I was administering this emotional vaccination, Melody's profile -- replete with two of my favorite pictures of her, pictures I took, pictures that used to be on my desk -- kept coming up.

I can' t figure out how to move on. Fuck this. I loved her. I still love her. She could be a shrew, she could be small, she could be demanding.

I don't care. She was, as they once said of Babe Ruth, "an Everest in Kansas."

How do you immunize yourself from everything you ever wanted?

And why would you want to?


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