Independence Day

Happy 4th of July, y'all. I hope you had fun, spent time with your loved ones, enjoyed the fireworks and the heat of summer.

It's seems like the only time I write here anymore is when I need to say something about Thomas. I know no one really wants to hear it anymore, but it's still very real to me. It's kind of like, when you see a tragedy happen? And at first there's a crowd, right? But then, after the ambulance came and the police questioned everybody? People drift away from the scene. They don't know what to say to the victims anymore. What else is there to say? You can only express your sorrow so many times, you know? But the victims are still there, living with it every day.

I need some place to get it out, and you're it. Thanks for listening.

I've decided I really fucking hate the holidays. Any and all of them. I dread Christmas the most. I know it will be worse than today, a million times worse. How the hell am I going to live through it? But tonight I'm not going to worry about that. Maybe by then I'll be "over it" and it'll all be fine.

Today was hard (how many times have I written that, anyway?). Thomas got here to pick up Maritessa and Tripp up at about 1:30, and left with them at around 2:00. I was supposed to be going to a party with my mom and dad, but had begged out because I didn't get any sleep last night. But I didn't let Thomas know that, or that my "grown-up plans" were just a party with my parents. After he left with them, I ran out to Burger King, and when I went past the house he shares with another guy, some mutual friends were out there and they waved me to stop. The girl, Mara was talking to me. I don't really like her, and I know she's a liar. I've known that for a long time. But she was saying some stuff. It's not important what she said, but it was hurtful. After crying for a couple of hours after that, I found out positively that none of it was true, but still.

I laid on my couch crying and felt so alone. Even my old stand-by, Twitter, wasn't any help because no one was on. I couldn't call any friends to talk about it because my cell screen broke the other day and I can't see anything at all on it. Besides, I didn't want to ruin their holiday. A friend did wind up calling and she came by, but she never knows when to leave. She was here about four hours, and we talked about Thomas a little bit, but I could tell she didn't want to hear it. Finally she left and I took a shower, did my make-up really really well (because he had to think I went out) (And because I really want to look pretty when he's coming) and waited for him to bring the kids home.

He called me at about 9:30 or so, saying that he was bringing the kids home and that he had been injured. I was careful not to express too much concern for him. Who the hell knows if that's the right thing, I just think he needs to miss me. I don't want him to think I still care. But when I was sure he had left Verna and Jun's house (our best friends, respectively) I called Verna and asked if he was okay and what had happened. She told me he had cut his foot really bad, but not to worry.

When he got here he showed his foot to me, and it really is a bad cut. About three inches long, and he said you could see into it. There was blood everywhere. He wasn't going to go to the hospital, but I think I may have convinced him to. It hurt to see him hurt. To have to restrain myself from the need to take care of him. He stayed for a long time. It felt like a long time, anyway. He kept telling me how much fun they all had today, kept kissing the kids and telling him he loves them. I'm glad he's doing right with them, don't want it any other way, but god. It hurts me when he kisses them. It hurts to hear him say, "I love you" and know he's not talking to me.

He showed me some photos of Tripp on his phone, and really looked at me too. It's just... I don't know. I want to think he's missing me a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not. I guess he just really believes I'm over it now, and that I won't think such stupid things anymore.

Oh yeah. He had borrowed one of my big blankets for the kids to sit on at the lake, and while they watched the fireworks. He brought it in and showed me there's smears of blood all over it. Said he's sorry about that. Then he said "You can take care of that." In a way like he had complete confidence I would be able to get it out. None of that bothered me. But knowing that it's his blood? It's driving me crazy. Like I just want to go curl up in the bloody blanket and cry. Isn't that stupid? I'm starting to question my sanity here. I can't even believe I told you that. It's a part of him though. I miss him. His smell and taste and the way he feels.

Don't worry though. I'm not going to do it. Just considered it briefly.

God. I wrote too much again. Sorry.

One other thing... I just hope he has someone to take care of him. I wish it was me, but it can't be. So I hope someone really is.