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This weekend at the expo, my long distance boy flew in to see me and spend time with me on the peripheral of the conference. At the same time, my sweet girl Minx was in the LA area, and today she swooped me from the PME to go out to dinner. When we came back to my hotel around 6pm, we walked in on the boy having sex with another woman.
We stood there for a minute. I said, oh, they’re having sex. Minx said, lets get out of here. I remember standing at the Ayres Ontario elevators feeling my chest plummeting and that sensation of prickly skin, where the air around you feels like it’s turned to a toxic chemical liquid. I worried that he would be running after me down the hall, maybe saying wait, are you okay? Instead we stepped into the elevators and it just hurt, hurt, hurt on the way down. She sat me down outside while I calmed down. She said, we have to get you out of here. I said, I want to go home.
We went back in and they were still at it. I shut their bedroom door and packed. From within I emmanated terrifying vibrations, so that my hands shook as I threw my stuff into bags. They came out of the bedroom dressed and said they were going to a party, and left. Didn’t they notice me packing? Unfuckingbelievable, Minx said.
Because she was there, I don’t feel so crazy; this has never happened to me before. She walked me to my car. I actually planned on saying goodbye to her, then driving to a gas station and crying before I hit the road. Instead we stood in the parking lot and she held my face in her hands and said, this has nothing to do with your worth as a person.
I drove as fast as I could. San Francisco is cold and wonderful and home. I still haven’t cried yet. My heart hurts. But I’m not broken.
When I purse my lips, they are still only half-kissed.
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