I really ask myself, must I continue to live this way, between expectation and chagrin, apathy and desire? Complete similarity between my behavior at the time of my mother’s death and now: I’m always doing something for him (as I did then for her). I’m going out to buy vodka now, and maybe a short, tight-fitting “fashionable” skirt (especially since I know his wife doesn’t wear that kind of skirt). It is a lovely hell, but hell nonetheless. I wonder if he, too, since Tuesday, has been afraid of what is happening between us.
