130 days – Necessary it is to live to love

It’s been 130 days since I shaved my head, and my hair is getting long. But this isn’t about my hair. It’s about her. It’s about knowing that I cut my hair when I found out that she had slept with someone else while she was abroad. I ended up spending nearly two hours that day shaving my head. Of course, when a friend of mine saw me later and asked about it, she said, “I hope it wasn’t because of some girl.” I had to admit that one. I’ve never been one to do stupid things, but that’s one of them. I never thought I’d be standing in the library at 10pm with a beanie, but there I was.

You ever wonder what your life would be like if you hadn’t met a certain person, hadn’t let them fuck with your head, so that you’d be left standing by the side of the road at night, talking to your ex on the phone, nearly crying. There’s laughter in this story too, but it comes after all the heartache. The laughter comes after the panic attacks and the depression. It comes after the former love of your life tells you that most of your good work should come from moments of emotional intensity such as this. This coming from a medical student, you’re not apt to believe anything. But you laugh. You laugh, because once, she kissed you at every red light, and it was important. So you laugh, and then you walk home in the darkness, listening to her questions on how to be the one in control of a relationship.

How can you save anyone but yourself? She’s all I ever write, and as I know from experience, you write what you know. Not the she that is a medical student, but the other, the one I called JJ, when I tried to give her a nickname. It didn’t stick – too familiar, too childlike, and god knows she isn’t a child, even when she acts like one.

130 days have passed, and I’m at an impasse. The only solution I’ve found is to forget her existence, which works until I remember how shy she used to be when I would look her in the eyes. She didn’t like that for a moment. It took awhile for her to get used to my stares. And she may not have been a child but she sure looked like one with her four foot eleven inch frame.

I forget how long it has been since we saw each other, and maybe that is for the best.


I’ve been back in Valencia for forty days. With every day that goes by, I feel my connection to Berkeley diminishing. It’s a sad thing to realize I may not be back there for several years. There are too many good memories to just let go. Strangely, my life there is divided into several distinct parts. The first is spending time with Chris, when I was still with Xandus. The second is the year spent with Jenny. The third, and last, is my last semester, spending time at Cafe Trieste, talking with Sam and Teddy, talking lit with Chaz. I don’t really think of those two years as continuum. There are definitely specific parts which are wholly separate from the entire experience. I want to say that those two years were the best of my life, but I really can’t make any value statements about “best of my life” moments. I just know there were some good times there.

Jenny came back from England on Saturday. I didn’t get to see her at all during these last four days before she went back to Berkeley. It is very unlikely that I’ll ever see her again. What’s most crushing for me is my own stupidity.

Ever since I finished reading “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle,” I’ve felt lost about what to read next. I started “The Sound and the Fury,” but it is really difficult. Today I read some Sedaris, but as funny as he is, this collection, “When You Are Engufled in Flames,” is really weak.