For Lisa

How about a list, for old times sake?

1. When the cops came [again] today, I lifted up my sleeve to show them the horror of the crusted over gash on the inside of my left arm. It was the first time I had looked at it since it happened, and I burst into tears.

 2. Well, look at that. I used to be a blogger! I read over the front page of this-here-ol'-blog, and three of the last four entries are about how Chase had asked me to stop doing this, to not write about our lives so explicitly on the internet--and I thought I should finally say why: I slept with 100 people before I met Chase, yet he was the first one to give me an STD. He gave me herpes, and he didn't want me telling anyone. I obliged. Again and again. And it cost me my blog.

3. Wow, it's really been a long time. We were all using MySpace last time I posted here!

 4. I had drinks with Aubrey several weeks ago, and she asked me: "What happened to that one guy? From your blog always? He was like the love of your life." Although this is arguably untrue, whom I think she's referring to will be here, Dogwilling, next week or so. He has a penchant for flying all over the place for me, and thankfully this habit is not lost after 4 years. In fact, we were always best with some years between us.

 5. Speaking of STD's, an unfortunate side affect of a partner who claims monogamy but is in action not monogamous is that you must get an STD panel to make sure they didn't bring home any "surprises" for you. This I think, may be the most humiliating part, because as I am so aware from years and years of promiscuity that the doctor will most likely blame me for getting it, or even worse just assume that I have one and treat me for it without testing (which happens ALL THE TIME if you write on a form that you've had 80, 90+ partners in your life).
 What I mean is that in those stirrups, it really will be my fault, and everything he screamed at me about how useless and incapable I am, how it's my fault he hurt me, lied to me, how he deserves better--all of that will for those moments be true, and I will know it, because how could I deny it? What can be worse than a cold speculum, a suspicious clinician, the bruises all over my hips and thighs from him wrestling me to the ground--they see that stuff, and they think they know me. I thought I knew me.

 I thought I knew me!

 But I did once, I'm sure of it--I read it here. A snippet?

 "By the time I woke in Jeremiah’s spare room later that morning, I knew she was back. That Miranda—that one that says things she shouldn’t, that loves too too fucking hard and can’t rationalize why, that fears regret so much that she does extraordinary things—that barely glances at a calendar or considers the health of her cat before purchasing air travel."

 I miss her. And I miss you too, Lisa. Thank you for everything.