Saturday again...

I woke up sweaty this morning gripping one of Rob’s shirt so tightly with my left hand that my fingers hurt when I uncurled them from their death grip on the fabric. I wondered what I had been dreaming or if I even was to make me hold on so tightly. Sleeping next to his shirt and not actually having it on made me think of when I was little, sleeping with the comfort of stuffed animals.
When I sat up in bed, I felt disoriented. My head was pounding and my stomach burned. I carefully got dressed and headed to Inman Perk thinking caffeine and breakfast would lift the fog from my mind.
The only thing it lifted though, was my heart rate. I sit in front of the computer staring at the screen, trying to think, trying to write. My mind is completely blank and I’m mad.
“Hey!” a voice pulls me out of my confusion.
I look up and see a black guy I had met weeks before one morning. He’s nice, I just don’t want to talk.
“Hi.” I quickly glance back at my screen.
“You’re here early.” he replies.
Thanks for noticing.
I nod, not interested in small talk.
“Do you get enough sleep?”
For the love of God. What does it matter?
“I do.”
“You didn’t party last night?” he continues.
Do I look like the kind of girl that stays up all night partying?
“No.” Although my swollen face probably insinuates I’ve had too much alcohol.
“What time did you go to bed?”
The room is spinning and I want nothing more than for him to get out of my face.
“I don’t know.” It was the truth, I don’t remember.
The girl behind the counter yells “Skim latte!” and he says goodbye while walking to get his coffee. I’m back to staring at my blank screen.
“Hey Melissa!” I’m pulled out of my staring contest with the screen again, minutes later.
It’s a former co-worker. “Hi.” I smile, hoping it doesn’t look too forced.
She walks over and we chat for a few minutes before she walks away to order coffee. I contemplate leaving before being interrupted again.
I have nothing to say to this computer except that I wish it could think for me. I want it to pull all my thoughts out and have them all typed up and saved for me. Right now everything is a scattered mess and I don’t know how to organize it.
I bought a journal yesterday. I’ve decided to start writing in that again, although I still have a huge gap to fill in my previous journal between April 21 and yesterday. I’m trying to be patient with myself but I want it all done right this minute. I turn the computer off and try to physically write. It feels so good to put pen to paper again. I grip the pen so hard it’s like I’m afraid it’s going to get away from me. I feel like a kid trying to ride a bike for the first time. I almost can’t remember what it was like to write in my own damn journal. This life is different from the life I had before Rob and I don’t know what to do with that transformation just yet.
When I can’t sit still anymore I get up and go home to get ready for work. My head hurts so badly that I take medicine. ‘I can’t call in today. I have to go, sick or not.’ I remind myself while getting dressed.
My clients are all fabulous today and I’m grateful. I suck down water, hoping to put out the fire in my stomach after racing around trying to get my station set up and tickets filled out. Nothing is helping and I’m gonna have to sit with it.
My first client spends most of the appointment complaining about her husband. I want to tell her to be thankful she’s got a husband to complain about but I don’t say a word.
After lunch I start Michelle’s hair. I haven’t seen her since April. She asks about Rob and I tell her everything that’s happened which starts the pounding in my head again.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaims.
I nod, not wanting to move or speak.
She goes on to tell me about how she lost her best friend ten years ago to a freak medical issue.
“I still cry, even ten years later.” she tells me.
Mentally, I check out after that comment. I don’t want to think about ten years after now. I can barely do today. I’m still cutting her hair, still hearing her words but nothing sinks in or registers. I think about wrapping my arms around Rob’s waist and pressing my cheek to his chest. It’s too hard to linger on that memory as my eyes flood with tears. I blink them back while still cutting. I think about my emotionally unavailable client instead. How I want to talk incessantly to him, until I’m out of breath and words, then curl up in the fucking fetal position in his arms and sleep until this doesn’t hurt anymore.
My work day ends early and I race home as if there’s something to go home to. Again, everything is quiet. I try to write again but I only get a paragraph down. I’m still compulsively drinking water thinking that maybe this glass will calm my stomach, but nothing works.
I take a shower and sit on the couch in front of the T.V. It’s not on, I’m just staring at it trying to get my head straight. My attention shifts to my feet. They’re almost curled up under me. I think about how every time Rob and I were having a “serious” discussion, we’d be on the couch, him looking at me, me looking everywhere but at him, exchanging words until he couldn’t talk anymore because he was falling asleep.
It’s just me this time on the couch and I can’t stand to be awake anymore. I get up and walk to my room, finding my Tylenol PM. I take one and fall into bed.