He's Just Not Into You

Which I saw tonight. While in bed next to my mother.
And I tried to remember if I had ever had the "will he
call" things happen. I feel like no. But I know I have
ached and yearned along with all the other female animals
(because we are all animals) in the world.

And I wondered if my man will be happy to see me when
I get off the plane. And if he will express it how I would
like him to. And if he doesn't, I thought, maybe I will leave
him...because I will be so disappointed.

And then - or now - I wonder if I am a romance addict.

But while I am suffering through the loss of my dear love,
cigarettes, I won't give up my romance addiction.

Especially while I am pregnant.

It seems the pinkish discharge has abated.

Now I just have to buy more effing presents for my
french in-laws. Really. What the fuck could people
want from America? If it was China, I could get with
it. Or even the foreign land of Canada.

I also found some fiction of my mothers, or rather
a note toward future fiction, where she describes
being in a bathroom stall and hearing a young girl
who seems to have a stomach ache "softly groaning"
in the stall besides here.

It shocks me how disgusting I find this.

But then, while I adore and love my mother, I cannot
abide her smell, her odor. And no one else would
ever say she smells anything other than normal.

What is that crazy shit?
It is the crazy shit that keeps this blog anonymous.

Although no one is using it anyway.

Over and out.

PS: In a stack of books my mother is trying to displace
I discovered her copy of the original Joy Of Sex:
also shocking is how uninteresting it is to me...that
which I once spent so much energy on trying to see.

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