Tuesday, April 22, 2008



I'm still steamed, if not as angry as I was. Maybe not as panicked, either. I got an e-mail yesterday evening:

"well, i slept for an hour and a half this afternoon and i feel much better."

Well, bully for you. What's missing here? Maybe it's those two little words I have spent my entire life repeating, which makes me rather particular about hearing them occasionally myself. Perhaps too particular.

But it wouldn't hurt, would it?
How hard can it be to say "I'm sorry"?

So, I sent this off:

I never should have asked if I should stay,
And you should not have answered me with "yes."
I should have put the damned New Yorker down
When you came home.
And I should not have been
So blind to think I wasn't in the way,
So dumb to think it wouldn't cause distress:
OK, you changed your mind, moods shift around --
I guessed, I lost -- what made me think I'd win?
What weighed upon me as I drove away
Was how you'd justified yourself,
Expressed it all in lecture form,
And dressed me down...
I, too, have limits, my sweet, evil twin.
What weighed me down was no one thing about you,
But thinking I might have to live without you.

I'm sure I'll be back begging for more in three or four days.
And that makes me completely crazy.

Oh, well.
Hang in there, all.

"All Aetna's furnace in my breast I bear,
And you, my Galatea, never care."

Click here to check out Polyphemus and other things at Peter Lazarski's site.

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