I still wake up in the mornings thinking of you

dear bel:

I know you haven't heard from me in awhile. things are looking good for me, or maybe, I'm looking better at things right now. I don't know if M told you, but we found a house, that we've temptatively named the Damsel House (because it's House D in a 4 house complex). tomorrow I'm walking into the bank, credit card in hand, and I'm taking a 10 thousand loan to pay for the deposit. I knew the credit card company shouldn't have upped my credit; now I've gone and fallen into temptation, but do you know what? maybe, just maybe, it'll be all right.

I'm almost done translating this book from hell, but I still don't know for sure if they're going to give me any more. I'm just assuming they will because my dad has told my mom they are pleased with my work. miranda also has a friend who owns a deli and wine shop, and she thinks they're hiring. tomorrow we're going to see this person too, and if everything's fine, I might spend part of my foreseeable future in the company of very fine wines, a prospect that seems incredibly romantic to me, even if I don't fancy wine much.

I'm finally signing up for the double-cursed Teacher's Course at the anglo school. yes yes, I know I've rambled about it and refused to take it for years; to me it seemed overpriced, overestimated and unnecessary, given that I don't want to teach english for the rest of my life; but hell, I'm also sick of panhandling for jobs I'm very capable of doing really well. when I'm done with this course, I'll be formally qualified to teach english in any school and on any level, even bilingual schools and colleges. my mom offered to pay for it, sort of like a gift, she said, and I said yes, if only because I have hope that when I'm done with this thing, I won't ever have trouble finding jobs again, and I'll be able to finally start paying her back.

so yes, things are looking up for me. nothing is certain, except that I'm going into a huge debt to pay for a pretty house with rose marble stairs and that I think that it can be done.

so now that I see a way, and a good way, please I'm ready: get out of my heart. every morning I wake up and I find you there, looking at me with your wonderful eyes, fixing your hair in the mirror, playing your guitar in the living room, there you are. I hear your voice in the street and I think I see you in a stranger's face every time I'm out.

I try not to talk about you with other people, because I think I bore them. or worse, they pity me. I kind of have this idea that if I just pretend that I don't think about you, you'll eventually disappear from my mind, so I try not to acknowledge how much I still dream of you, how I find myself calling out for you with my mind and my heart and all my senses. I imagine the city at nights, me thinking of you burning bright on one side of the city, a light that gropes for you and can't find you.

every time the phone rings my heart speeds up for a second, thinking that it might be you. every afternoon I find myself fighting the urge to call you, just to hear your voice, and perhaps with some stupid hope that I'll just happen to dial at the Magical Right Time, the moment when you'll pick up and hear my voice and you'll realize that you still love me.

but that will never happen. I know that. every day I realize all the reasons why we didn't work out, and why we're apart, and why you don't give a shit any more. every day I also realize that there's no place for me in your new life --not that you seem to miss me--, and that there's no place for you, as you are, in my new one; even if I love you, for us to be together there'd have to be some changes that are just not going to happen. furthermore, we've both made choices that separate us even more, I imagine.

so I realize all this and I also realize I should be over you. I'm not. I wonder if I'll ever be. it sometimes seems like we left the best of ourselves back there, don't you think? I loved you so much.

this letter will of course never reach you, because I'll paste it in my blog instead. I don't want to seem insular, but I've bared my soul for you to read before and the only response I got was "oh how cute". and you didn't even say that to me; you told my mom, as in 'Bel called today and said that that email you sent him was very cute.'. so excuse me if I want to save myself the embarassment of you discussing my private, intimate, tear-drenched missives with my close relatives --or whoever is handy-- and term them as fucking CUTE.

anyway, I'll be moving by the end of august, so I'll be dropping by the apartment soon to pack all my kitchen stuff and books and all those odds and ends that are probably in your way by now. I'm sorry I'm going to leave you without any chairs to sit on, but if it's any consolation, I'm out of a fridge too. so expect a call from me soon, even if you don't like it.

take care and get out of my heart,
gaby.