The Beginning After the End Stars

Well, here we are three months later and my previously perfect prognostications seem certain to take a black eye to an otherwise stellar record as Hillary is reported to be withdrawing from the race tomorrow. I suppose it will be months before we know if there is indeed some damning story Hillary refrained from using and if the Republican machinery has their wretched claws on it, but at this point it seems ridiculous, even to me, to suggest that the Republicans, while loathsome, are any more nefarious than Hillary. Is there honor amongst thieves, and what is this honor anyway? I think men believe themselves to be good and honest, but ideals, and goals, and institutions allow them to forget. 

I've been so silent, but I think at last I'm ready to say a little. To be perfectly honest, I need the catharsis. Oh, I was busy at work, and life and all the things one does while time marches inexorably on, and then, quite inexplicably, I was lovestruck. The most depressing thing about the whole ordeal is that I don't even believe in love! Yes! Exclamation points! I can hardly believe it myself.

I can't explain it in anyway. He was completely wrong for me in every single possible way, far too many to enumerate. Nevermind that he's not of noble birth or fabulously wealthy or any of those other qualities one might assume a man must possess to merit my attention. But in all the ways I know nothing about, I imagined he was exactly perfect for me. It all seems so trite, but I'm reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is made to feel emotion and while crying wonders what the salty wet discharge from his eyes was. I felt exactly that way. Is this love? This? I do not want any part of it. Well, the after effects anyway. Perhaps the reason I liked him so was exactly the reason he had no idea how much I liked him. I hung on his every word and movement and at first he seemed to enjoy it a little bit, but quickly seemed to be totally oblivious, leaving me a mute mess.

And now, I have this utter feeling of emptiness. I can't even ride a bike properly. Please don't write in about my injury. Its the least of my worries. I couldn't eat. I was always a dainty eater, but these few days I've eaten nothing. Whatever this feeling is, its grabbed a hold of my middle and squeezed tighter than I can bear. I didn't even know what it was. I actually went to see a doctor to complain of my persistent nausea, and that nothing over the counter helped in the least. She asked about my job and possible stress there, and when I told her I could care less, she slyly smiled, and asked, "So what's his name?" Twenty Eight years old, and I'm feeling this for the first time. At least when I didn't know, I could sleep. Now I can't. I guess it turns out I'm not anything like the person I thought I was. It is pathetic.

I used to think he was exactly like a character in a book I read, but of course, I was not in the book. Now I think maybe I was lunch.

Oh, the blood and the treasure and the losing it all, the time that we wasted and the place where we fall. Will we wake in the morning and know what it was for, up in our bedroom, after the war?