Let me preface this by saying I did not intend on going down a self loathing road this morning. It just happened.
I woke up at the crack of 10:30 in the morning and as a ritual I always check my phone. Mostly because I am addicted to it. Secondly, I do have to to see if my temp job at UPS calls me in for work that day. I received two such calls. I checked my voicemail to make sure it was UPS.
This is where I wound up.
My voicemail box is full. Entirely because of saved voice messages. From the last 4 and a half years. I always know they are in there. I rarely check them. I just like knowing that if I want to hear some of my friends voices, I can just call my voicemail. It saves the heartache of getting to someone else’s voicemail. Speicifically my ex’s voicemail. Whom I must have called a thousand times. (Thanks Adele)
I know that it takes exactly 27 seconds to reach her voicemail. Exactly from the moment I hit send. I know this because I can’t stand hearing her voicemail anymore. After over a year of listening to it. It’s hard as anything for me.
It’s not that I hate her voice at all. In fact I am still very much in love with many aspects about her. Her voice being a very prime one. When I hear her voicemail I am quickly returned to being poor, drunk, alone, and driving home, from a job I hated, to an apartment that I couldn’t afford, in a car that was on it’s last legs, in the middle of the night, in -20 degree weather In Upstate New York. Because that’s what you do when you go through heart break. Right?
My first saved voice message is one of the first voicemail’s I had ever received from her. I spent my entire morning making sure I wrote down every element from the day prior so that I would never forget why I got that voicemail. All while listening to Miles Davis, “Kind of Blue.” Because that is one of the best albums I know. Intimate and longing stretched over nearly an hour.
This is when I remembered our first kiss, because that’s a great way to wake up to a new day. Grabbing the metaphorical cleaver and bashing myself in the soul. And how beautiful that first kiss was. How can we ever forget our first kiss? I wasn’t actually even there for mine. I wasn’t present. Which makes mine particularly awful to remember. Although in the heat of the moment it seemed very interesting and unique.
What do you mean, Dusty? How could you not be there for your first kiss. Oh! But let me tell you how my absence in this relationship started long before I thought it did.
In the next post I can describe it all. No one should be tormented with this much reading only to have to go on and read more in the same sitting. You can read the next post. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter, right?!
Please leave any comments, constructive criticism, or opinions in the comments below. As some of you may already know, I need loads of attention. Maybe you don’t because I always disconnect from the world. Share your depression with me. I say this as unenthusiastic as possible. Of course.