I don’t sleep. Between my shame at acting like such a petulant child with Nicole, and wanting to wring my dad’s neck, I’m not sure what to do with my emotions. I recognize that it’s a good thing that I ripped the bandage off with her before things got too serious.
I also don’t shower because I can’t bear to wash away the last lingering remnants of her scent on my hands, on my skin. Yes. I marinated in my own post-run, post-s*x funk. So that’s about the level of functioning I’ve reached.
My father asks to meet me for breakfast to prepare for our meeting, and I only agree because I feel the need to tear into him about how badly he has ruined my life so far this spring. I know he wants to go for a run, so I still don’t shower, because what’s another layer of salt when I’m already wounded
