american amazon

Breast bruised, aching, having been biopsied five times. Something isn’t right. Won’t know what is or isn’t for a week or more. I barely feel human, with the possibility of carrying around all these awful things inside of me.

Four years ago tomorrow, this love affair began. I read what I wrote that spring: “I love him so much that is is worth being alive just to write this.” Such vibrance and extremes of emotion. I recognize it distantly, with a dissociated curiosity.

And yet it is still worth being alive. I hope I stay that way for awhile.

Met with Jonathan Freedman in Paddington station this afternoon with pigeons swarming everywhere. He speaks frankly. I appreciate it, but am further accustomed to my own condition.