Black Tuesday

Editor's note: No one is dead.

I’m not just blue. I’m black.

I guess I always knew the end would come.

Today, a little piece of my heart died.

It’s not completely broken. I’m still capable of rational thought. Functional.

But there is a small fissure. You know the kind. Like the one that starts in the joint in the ceiling. Annoying, but unnoticeable to others. But you are completely aware that its there. And that it’s not pretty. And getting bigger. And the pressure that caused it to crack? Always there. So it will never go away.

I need to get over myself. Our relationship was part time anyway. But somehow, knowing there isn’t a “next time”? Hurts worse than knowing he wasn’t really ever MINE. Not really.

He was amazing. Not perfect. But then, are any of us?

I never expected to feel this way about a man. Never expected to care about him like I do.

Don’t know that I will ever find anyone to replace him. But then, there probably isn’t room in my heart.

Read, and weep with me, my friends.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Life Decisions

Heavy stuff.

Living wills. Euthanasia. Assisted suicide. But its about quality of life.

Last night, my friend and I were sitting in the living room, discussing life decisions, and I said to her, "I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug."

She got up, unplugged the computer, and threw out my wine.

What a bitch.