Atrocious

Things are definitely more relaxed today. I’m ahead on my weekly goal after I get today’s work accomplished.

I’d have to say my second love is grain alcohol and my first love is Rhonda. I love you Rhonda. It feels nice to say it. I’ve wanted too. I’ve taken to punishing her lately by withholding myself. I forget about what I want, the sweet stuff, to ignore her. She deserves it.

I told her I didn’t like her hanging out with other people. I told her that. “It makes things complicated,” I said. She nodded. I must have said it a thousand times in the beginning. Those times when we looked like a couple of newlyweds. She’d drape her bare legs over mine and we’d do the crossword together. I’d misspell something and she’d laugh. Then I’d say, “Hey, don’t you wish it could be just us forever?” She’d nod.

When I moved here, I didn’t want to find any companions. It was a ploy for solitude. But we met anyway. I should’ve known then that she was looking for someone to latch on to. She wouldn’t stop topping off my water glass and asking me what I was reading. Why did I take that girl in the stained apron home? I remember, I tried to blow her off and she said, “I don’t know anyone here. I though we could be friends.”

And now she’s out again. Having a drink with the old man who hangs out behind the restaurant smoking and the defunct Mormon missionary.

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