He likes the comfort, though. He likes knowing I know his body. I am sealing myself off from him, I
can feel my edges hardening. I want someone who looks at me like prime rib. I am horrified I want
someone who sees me as a cut of meat, albeit a good one. That is an old urge for validation, unhealthy,
but so strong I can feel myself unwinding my love for him.
I will go back to therapy soon to work on attachment issues which are probably the root of this whole
mess. I know a lot of things, but the two that cause me the most trouble are: 1. The closer you are to
someone, the more they can hurt you and 2. Everyone close will inevitably be purposefully cruel.
Surely these aren’t actually true. Surely.
My fiance can’t smell, not very well. I have to tell him to brush his teeth, take a shower, if it bothers
me. I used to find this so sweet, loved that he couldn’t smell me and I could let it all go, but now I feel
like he is a child and I am sick of caretaking. The mummies can’t smell either, can’t smell their own
dry decomposition. Why were they woken up? There has to be a reason they were shuffling down the
road. There has to.
In kickboxing, I move to my opponent’s side so I can punch without getting punched. I kick to stop
them from circling to my side. I am learning to protect myself. The key is to always move, move move,
light on your feet, never stay in one place. By the end of a few rounds, my wraps are soaked with sweat
and loose again.
I love the mummy story because everybody sucks. Maybe there is a sweet gentle normalcy to the
spouses but they seem as hollow as the mummies empty skulls and pelvises. Maybe the mummies can
just shuffle along, ima