it's a long long road

it's a big big world

we are wise wise women

we are giggling girls

we carry a smileto show when we're pleased

we carry a switchblade in our sleeves

My singapore will be its own chapter, isolated from the time zone where i live. A world where i chose pillows from a menu of 17 (natural buckwheat, porcelain pillow, silk shade...), never opened my own door, spent three hours being scrubbed, polished, hydro-bathed

Where i was safe walking at 10 pm on a mission to photograph the Merlion for my sister and drink a martini on the porch, under a wooden fan, at the Fullerton.

The heat is wet, sweat perpetual; but the breeze never stops, it never drips. The English business traveler next to me on the plane scoffed when he called it "Asia for Dummies." I'm dumb. It's lush and green and palm-treed. Pagoda roofs on stone smooth pillared builidings; it's Gatsby inChinatown. An island of 25 miles and I walked much of it, mostly feeling that dreaming-while-awake thing.

First a woman on the ground, stirring chestnuts over a fire and rice and prawns in a giant metal bowl, hawking them to toursits on the riverwalk. Then Petra, bowing and handing me a robe, speaking only to tell me "i start treatment now," "turn over now, and "is it good?"

Then the too-beautiful slick-black hair locals with suited expats sipping $35 martinis. the business travelers projecting loud important voices to home: "It's oppressive, this heat. I thought i was going to die on the golf course."

All of them here with a purpose, none of them floating like me: somewhere between long days of communicating through translators and taking furious notes in Sao Paulo and Beijing; somewhere beteween married and not.

I do Not Want What I Haven't Got

I am a woman I don't recognize but want to.

I studied myself in the mirror this morning trying to learn what's the same and what isn't.
Are my cheeks moving up? Does my jaw look tighter, tougher? Do my shoulders look softer, further away from my face?

Changes working from the inside, so much and so fast I think I can see it.

Letting go of the idea that it isn't worth going to the gym for less than 150 minutes at a time. The absolute terror about what happens if I miss a day. The inability to sit still for more than two hours without getting snappy and distracted.

I feel it in this settling rhythm. Mine.

Maybe it’s not being with someone who always makes me feel like I'm giving a little more than I want to. Buttering his toast. Clearing his plate. Folding his clothes. Always being the one to apologize, admit I was wrong. Stretching. Because that’s what love is. That’s how you know, right? You find that person you’re willing to stretch for.

I could have ended up not like myself at all. Stretched too thin. The woman I saw in the mirror today wasn’t me. Not his me, anyway. She looked like she wasn’t fiendishly watching what she eats, like she enjoyed her breakfast and her long walk outside. Like she’d find her way around a city by herself without letting him think he was the one, really, who figured out how to get there. Like she’d rather be outside sitting in the sun drinking wine than squeezing in a workout in the late afternoon. Like she might wake up in the morning with no real schedule and relish it.

I'd like nothing more than to bring this nearly 30 year old woman to life. All by myself.

How can you tip toe to the exit with your tapping shoes on?

How can you dance on the battlefield with your Sunday clothes on?

How long can you can you go along with this shit with a straight face on?

This from a friend. A mutual friend who works with him, loves us both. A shared friend, one of the people we’ll figure out how to split:

Honey. I had no idea. I feel sick about this. Are you kidding me? But I’ve seen him in the office a dozen times this week and he said you were fine. He said you’ve been traveling a lot but you’re doing well….Does he know you moved out? Are you ok?

Trying to get wrapped around this. impossible. when will he tell people – our fucking friends at least – the truth? Is he lying deliberately or has he unwound to the point that he’s drooling, flashing shiny crazy man eyes?

I imagine he’s having a hard time taking time to catch his breath and process all this while telling mutual friends that I’m doing fine, I said to say hello, and I’ve been traveling a lot but we’ve been making the most of our time at home together

I feel violated:
How dare you tell people that I’m okay. that I’m traveling. that you see me in the morning and at night and you know what my schedule has been like

Same friend, second email:
I just confronted him. One of the most depressing conversations I’ve had in a long time…you’re right. He doesn’t know you’ve walked away. It makes me sad to say this but it’s a really good thing you did.

I feel vengeful.
If you aren’t comfortable talking to people about your problems, maybe I could make sure everyone in the newsroom gets informed. I could take out an ad in the paper. That way, your colleagues, our friends, and your girlfriend would all receive the The truth at the same time. they'd even all be in the same room so you could just do a quick Q & A.

Far more interesting than having me just quietly disappear from your weekend recounts. Will you just have me traveling all the time for a year or so, before casually mentioning that “I wasn’t the one” and you “married the wrong woman” and….starting the cycle all over again?

After a record number of days without crying, her shock and protective outrage made me weak today. I can't believe he did this. Again.

She remembers my dad thanking her, at our wedding, for bringing us together. And she wants to apologize

Your love is better than chocolate.

Officially booked the following FOUR HOUR treatment for Saturday.

These descriptor words are NOT my own. Taken from a magazine review. Three things I've taken away from the description:
The author is a frustrated romance novelist/porn author
This has GOT to be better than dating
I can't wait to get to Singapore

….your treatment begins with an aromatic body polish (stimulating blood circulation)

....luscious body scrub of cream, aromatics and salts chock full of goodies from the deep sea (does double duty as a body mask)

....a plastic wrap cocoons your body, which is further shrouded in a warm blanket on a heated massage bed

...the scrub is then flaked off and you're treated to a shower

...afterwards, a concoction of essential oils--blended to complement the air, fire, water or earth elements - is rubbed into your skin

...the waterdance is code for hydrotherapy. Dancing waters of the jacuzzi pummel your body into laid back submission

...the face interlude and ear euphoria ensure that these areas are attended to as an oxygenating facial and a sensual ear massage trigger more endorphins

...the piece de la resistance is the Rhythm and Body Massage - rhythmic but gentle. Drains water and tension from your body

....the result? A smooth, firm body.

Soon to be smooth and firm - what a treat. wonder what other treatments they offer...

As I make my way (c'mon c'mon)
These better nights that seem too long
Now we grieve cause now is gone*
*Shout out to high school mate Jason Stollsteimer

Fuck. You. for smearing your dysfunctional and deluded thoughts on me.

Thanks to this outlet, I’ve a place to dump your words.

Ah. Let’s see. It’s Sunday night. You’re lonely. Or wait, maybe you’re just hungry. Right about now I’d be skipping around the house, taking your clothes out of the laundry to put mine in, asking you to read me a story, asking what you want for dinner.

But tonight, there’s likely nothing in the fridge, nobody to watch Entourage with, nobody to stop and rewind all of Jeremey piven’s scenes a second, third time.

So, you decided to send me an email. I can’t begin to tell you how the world turns red when your name appears in my inbox. Best I can figure is this is your response to my email last week, when you asked me what to do with my mail. I said "assume it’s nothing urgent, hold on to it until we settle."
So. Let’s break it down:

…i keep seeing things that remind me of you.. i was at the place Playtos (is that the name of the place with the used clothes on Clybourn and Webster?) and saw some clothes that I know you would like..i have mentioned this before but the weekends are really tough... we used to have full weekends and i miss doing stuff..

**it’s called plato’s closet. I hate that place. we used to have full weekends because I sprung up on Sunday, excited to spend the day together, and drew us a map.

ok, now for the meat of the matter...

**what? Meat of the matter? Um. I think the “meat of the matter” is that I didn’t realize I knew anyone who said “meat of the matter”

jess, i know you want conclusion and hate being in limbo.. but you have to realize i have barely caught my breath..

**I’m. Not. In. Limbo.

i dont want to drag things out, but lets give this time.. it’s too soon to talk about divorce. i think we can see each other and talk about things.. i dont know whose advice it is to not see me, but i dont get it.. how can we decide life changing decisions for each other like this.. it hasnt been that long.. we have time.. lets not make quick decisions..

**enter delusion interpreter: “whose advice it is not to see me”??!
well. Pretty sure that would apply to everyone I know. You "don’t get it"? "how can we decide life changing decisions for each other?"
I didn’t decide anything for you.
I didn’t decide for you to fuck someone else.
I didn’t decide for you to look me in the eye days before I found out and tell me that I’m “your world.”
I didn’t decide our relationship was suffering due to my failure to bring blond hair and trivia about 1950’s movies “to the table.”
I only decided that our marriage was a train wreck; and I only decided that after presented with solid evidence.

i can understand you not wanting to wait around...but my choice is to wait…see each other and see how things go.. i cant speak for you.. i am not ready to decide anything but i cant help if you are.. thats my two cents..

**My choice is I’m looking for someone with more than two cents I guess. Cause I can’t do shit with that.

I want the good life but i don't want an easy ride. what i want is to work for it...

scene I: heroine in a horror movie:
For the first time in maybe ever, i remembered to pack my bathing suit (a result of submitting to a real suitcase and checking luggage) Just back from the hotel pool - olympic-sized, 27th floor, surrounded by windows. At first, I loved being the only one there - no screaming kids. Not a soul in the locker room. Of course, that only lasted until I became convinced that someone was going to kill me in empty locker room.

scene II: heroine in a romance novel. minus the romance:
back in hotel room. showered and content, heartrate returned to normal. Productively working on motorola report. A knock at the door (killer?). Room service. "A gift Miss jessica. welcome back to the morumbi." A bucket of chilled champagne, two glasses, and a wooden box of chocolates now sits on the table at the window. cheers.