Wednesday, 12 March 2008


Predictably Ben called and told me to stop protecting him. That his perfect woman was six feet tall and had dark hair and was really together but for some reason I got stuck in his heart and never got unstuck and that he's really fucking thrilled to be with me, and if I thought that making him out to be the bad guy here and trying to make him mad enough to walk away was going to work, that I don't know him at all. That he is hundreds of miles away and worried sick about me and all he wants to do is come home but that the worry is preferable to being without me altogether.

And then he said to knock it off and just go get through the last five days and then things will be better but he was going to go crazy if he had read any more of my attempts to derail myself when it comes to him.

I promised him I would try and then asked if he was kidding when he said his perfect woman was my exact opposite.

He said no.

I think I deserved that. I developed a lump in my throat the size of my fist. He said that told him more than anything I could write in this stupid journal and that he loves me, that he has since we met and he will when we're dead. Then he asked if I was okay with the whole idea of necrophilia.

I did say he was a weirdo. A really, really sweet one though.