my legs are stiff and sore. everytime i stretch them as long as i can when i wake up in the morning, they ache and tell me to stop. i never stop. i sit cross-legged and write notes listening to with my whole heart and stop to shake out my aching wrist but never my legs. i learned today that because i am so tall, at five foot eight, i will not live to be one hundred; only those who are five foot two and under can possibly live to be one hundred. also, having fatty calves means less chance for a stroke and the longer my legs are the healthier my liver is. i bet scrunching up my legs does no good for my liver.
i wrote a letter yesterday. i haven't written a letter in a long time and it felt very futile from the outset. but then i was two paragraphs in and my mind kept going. i typed the letter, clearly, because having this particular letter handwritten would be too emotional. i think the typed letter puts me at a certain distance between myself and the receiver of said letter. i must send out two copies. i don't know if it will ever be read. i don't know if it will ever be received. if i had hand written it then i would be more worried about its reception but it is typed, so i am not worried at all. i know people are nosy and the one person will get it and, though it is a back up letter in case the original isn't received, it will be opened. fan the flames of gossip! i wish they would just be normal for once. but the point of the letter is not to create a stir or cause any trouble. quite the contrary, the letter is meant to be my closure. i doubted it at first, like i often do when closing a door, but ultimately it is the right thing. separated permanently.
my eyelids are heavy and refusing to stay open for much longer. i want to write in my actual journal all the things i can never tell you here. i wanted to write about how i am on strike and sad about it; how things turn in my gut a lot more than you would think; and how i am back to where i was only a month ago about this situation-- you can have it them they her him she or none of it or all of it. but i haven't written it. i don't want to be honest with myself just yet.
it was your heart on the line.
