prose warm-up

I remember her saying quite often that I wasn't here anymore and I was never quite certain what she meant by that. What the fuck does that mean? I was there, of course I was there, don't even ask me if I was there because I was. It was everywhere else that I wasn't. I didn't even want to be there most of the time, but I was. I don't remember the first time she said that but I do remember a few of the times we were in bed and I was just barely awake, with squinted, aching eyes, and weary of the morning, not wanting to sleep as a result of said weariness. But that didn't do me any good as it would make the morning even less bearable. And she'd look at me with those gigantic eyes of hers with the most trite, cheap, sopping wet expression I'd ever seen and say, quite bluntly, 'You're not here anymore.' And I wouldn't say anything.

Then I'd say something. I would argue, of course. But have you ever argued about an issue that you don't at all understand, but were certain that if you did understand you would disagree? That was me. She would say, 'you're not here,' and I would say, 'I am here. I'm always here. I'm here for you. 00110101011111010.'

Well, not really. But it was something that robotic. So I guess in that sense I wasn't there anymore. She'd refer to my short term memory, which was not impressive. But all of those things I blamed on her. I worked hard then. I work hard now, I suppose, but fuck, I worked harder then. I slept probably the same amount. None of this is new, I always complain of these things, even though I shouldn't. I never know where to stand with complaining. I like to believe that a man does as needed and requires no pity party, and that all work is honourable. But, really, I can tell an acquantance 'can't complain,' if I truly wish to do so, but I'll prove myself a liar when speaking to someone I'm more familiar with. But all of those people know I can complain, as they've heard me do so. I don't know if I know anyone who can't complain.

But that fucking bitch needn't complain. Leastly of my commitment or presence. I was the most consistently adoring and devoted partner one could ask for. And this isn't braggadocious, as I hardly think that such pathetic, hopeless devotion is any matter to brag about. But I fucking was there. I was always there, even when I wanted to be somewhere else, which was often.

But I guess I started talking to her like a tape recording. But that's because she barely seemed human to me. There was something so inhuman about here. So empty. Maybe that was her issue, emptiness. Yesterday a statistical surveyist asked me if I felt emptiness and I told him yes, and I know that to be true, but I have no idea why.

Maybe I'm just not here anymore.