the break up bag. just sitting there innocently in the corner of my room. not in any sort of disruption with the other crap strewn around, some in bags, others left askew on the floor. Brady, ever the efficient and thoughtful one left it on my doorstep the morning he flew back. The note read “for Nadia” on a piece of scratch paper; the other side contained information about some flight of his to los angeles. The last form of communication fittingly scribbled on a representation of why I ended it in the first place. There it is. Clothes folded neatly. I’ve pushed it back and back and back, burying it under my tendency to keep rubbish around, unchecked and organized but really, I just want to keep the smell around for something traumatic.

two days after I saw a man commit suicide.

rather I was 100 feet away in the muni station and heard the crowds reaction.

a collective wail and a rush of people pushed away, revolted and scared of transition from person, to goo. my first thought was of a bomb. it makes sense that I would think that with my recent shift of paradigms. Planted in the middle of the new mall, a transit station and the cable car turnaround. what a spectacle. But no, a bomb would have been planted discreetly and I would have heard the explosion, so I settled for gun and when Grace came from getting change, we walked down the stairs and caught the L. she had seen the goo.

that initial gripping fear hadn’t left my chest and it turned into something else. sadness, hopelesslness…I can’t describe it. The person who usually deals with that part of Nadia wasn’t speaking to me. My mom was in Peru. Without the sounding board of Brady, it was hard for me to gauge my own reactions.

We got all the way to Castro station before turning around.

As I waited for the 8x to whisk me into my dark bed my mind was a jumble of half baked realizations and observations about those thoughts that were entirely too self aware to be of any use.

I ended up going home. My real home on 23rd avenue and eating pizza with my aunt. The awesome one, not the one that stole all the money.

She called me twice to make sure I was okay. I hadn’t talked to her in months. that should mean something but I’m having trouble connecting.