Contemporaneous: Chapters 42 – 44
42. The phone rings. I almost don’t answer it, because I think it’ll be Lana, launching another salvo – part of me worries she’ll show up on my doorstep to continue this, although she’s only ever done that when she incontrovertibly knows she’s the one who’s fucked up, and wants to be conciliatory. You can place those visits along with Halley’s Comet. And my head’s raw. My ears are raw. I’m raw. Like I’m recoiling in expectation of some inexorable, scathing deconstruction of all my inadequacies. I wonder if this is how tortured prisoners, where the expectation now is just as horrifying as the experience itself. Fuck that. What I…
Contemporaneous: Chapters 21 – 22
21. No messages in the morning, nothing but that unease of something that went wrong, and the uncertainty of how culpable I am. But this is no different to any of the multitudes of arguments I’ve had with Lana, although (as so many do with relationships) there’s that regret of what might’ve been. I’m too inexperienced in relationships (at least long-term ones) to know if I’m unrealistic, or perhaps I’m too wishy washy to see it for what it is. I have breakfast, brush my teeth (while playing my Words shots), then shower, preparing to sit in front of the computer and try get through some writing before I meet…
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