box. bottle. back to work.

November 12, 2012 Posted by the writer

I’m going back to work today. I will wear a new dress, five inch stilettos and a fresh pair of nylons. When people ask me about Henry I’ll say things like, “It’s sad, sometimes these things happen,” and “Thank you for asking though…” I will sit at an enormous board table and talk in billions, pretend like my heart hasn’t finally permanently fractured.

Then I’ll probably duck into the bathroom to sob in increments I’m assuming will be in a rotating range of 30 to 45 minutes.

Over the past three days I walked Lily all over Queens. From Forest Hills to Astoria Park. We walked until my legs hurt. Yesterday we wandered for close to five hours.

A bottle of tequila and box of tissues later, needless to say, I don’t feel any better. At least I’ve gotten a lot of practice sucking back tears, because I’m trying not to break down in front of Peanut. It’s hard enough for her already.

Peanut has never been alone a single day of her life. Ever. Timothy will be at the house keeping her company today. It’s the best I can do to soften the blow.

My therapist pointed out that work is how I cope. Last year around this time, when I was reeling from divorce, I set my entire focus on landing a full-time Writer gig. In 2009, when my marriage was evidently dissolving, I put all my attention on getting to New York City.

I’m going to pick up some novels this week. I haven’t looked at them for some days. I need something to work on, somewhere to focus. Because when I look around, I still look for Henry.

Work, tissues, tequila. If anyone else knows any good coping mechanisms. I’m all (t)ears.

About the writer

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gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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