casting my own shadow

Wednesday, May 24th, evening

I didn’t realize how many different flavors of pitty existed, that is, until I existed. But I suppose on that note, I didn’t know anything existed until well after I existed. I didn’t know about the lilacs that bloom in mid May, or the way the clouds cascade in front of the sun on lazy afternoons, but if I listed all the things I didn’t know before I knew them, this journal entry would take me hours to start. There’s the blatant type of pitty: the condescending glance followed by a high-pitched, sympathetic pleasantry. There’s the professional flavor of pity, which usually comes in frank statements such as “Sorry to hear that” followed by an awkward shift in a chair and an abrupt excuse to leave the room. And then, I’m starting to learn, there are many subtle flavors of pity. These are harder to spot, but with adequate training opportunities, I have become an expert in the sport. Subtle pity comes in the form of half-hearted party invitations. It comes in passive suggestions to hang out at some non descript point in the ever distant future. It comes in the sneaky attempts to ask if I’m okay without actually asking, “I bet work keeps your mind off of things, doesn’t it?” I don’t know what’s worse, the grief or the pity. Never mind, as soon as I wrote that, I can assure you that the pity is worse. At least pity no longer comes in the form of casseroles. If I lay eyes on one more casserole, I will spontaneously vomit, even if said casserole sits 14 feet from my face and smells like a teenage dream. I will still puke. There is no way around it.

Thursday, May 25th, evening

I discovered a new form of pity today! It came in the form of a gorgeous, unnecessarily fit, tall middle aged man with long brown hair and green eyes. His name was Aaron. His name probably still is Aaron - I doubt he changed his name in the past few hours, I hear that can be quite the process. He has a confident ambivalence about him. Those words don’t usually go together in a sentence to describe a person, but that’s the best way to describe him. He biked right past me as I was walking my dead boyfriend’s dog, and he said, “Keep it up, you look strong.” Who does he think he is to call me strong? If someone ever calls me strong again, I’ll puke. I won’t puke as much as I’ll puke if I see a casserole. But I’ll still puke.

Saturday, May 27th, morning

Whose idea was it to make Memorial day in the summer? Did we really need to give people with small dicks an excuse to show off how big they wish their dicks are? I passed a Harley Davidson festival on my bike today. A Harley Davidson festival! Whose idea was that? Thank you, mayor of Kansas City, for reminding me that my boyfriend died because he was navigating around someone with a small dick who was pretending to have a big dick. I rode home as quickly as I could, and as I did, I discovered yet another flavor of pity: the self indulgent kind that likes to wash over me when I’m feeling extra depressed. It’s the type that starts blaming all my shortcomings on his death. Maybe if he hadn’t died, I would have more muscular legs. Maybe I wouldn’t have bombed my interview last Wednesday for the job I didn’t even want. Maybe I wouldn’t have eaten that third donut on the way to the bus on Thursday. Maybe I would have been nominated for homecoming queen ten years before I met him. Everything bad in my life can be explained by this one moment a year ago.

Saturday, July 1st, morning

I’m getting sick of it. I can’t escape it. I got invited to a movie by a co worker yesterday. Of course I declined. I saw Aaron out on the bike trail yesterday, again hile I was walking my dead boyfriend’s stupid hairy dog. He greeted me, as if I look like someone who needs greeting, and asked me how my day was. I glared and walked away. Who do these people think they are? Why can’t they let it go? I sure have. The only time I think of him is when I pick up after his dog, or drive past his house, or eat his favorite meal. Otherwise, I don’t think about him at all. Can’t they accept that I’m fine? I don’t need their sympathy. I don’t need to be reminded that I’ll survive, or that I look strong, or that there is still life outside of this one incident. I know that. From now on, I’ll only leave the house after dark. I signed up for Prime today, so that will take care of groceries. I work from home, so that will take care of rent. The only time I need to leave the comfort of my own home is when I need to walk this dog. I hope I can get someone to adopt him soon.

Tuesday, August 8th, evening

I hate ice cream shops. They’re so full of expectant children with their busy parents who can barely manage to look up from their smart phones. There’s usually only one high school kid behind the counter, claiming it’s their first day, asking you to repeat your order five times. I swear, four people gave me that glance today when I got a chocolate milkshake after work. It wasn’t even a good milkshake. I almost tossed it in the dumpster on my way out, but the stupid kid behind the counter was out on break and I didn’t want him to feel bad that he charged me $5 for a horrible milk shake.

Wednesday, August 16th, evening

Aaron asked me to dinner today. I quickly declined. What was he thinking? I’m not a charity case.

Saturday, August 19th, morning

I ran into my college best friend at the farmer’s market today. I only went because I was out of bread. She asked me to have lunch with her sometime, in that non descript, passive way that people ask me to spend time with them since the incident. I respectfully declined. How many times do I need to say this, I’m not a charity case.

Wednesday, September 27th, evening

My boss asked me to hang back on Zoom after a meeting today. I was afraid he’d see the chaotic pile of pizza boxes and dirty socks on my desk, once it was just the two of us on the video, so I pretended my camera was broken. I wasn’t really listening, but he said something about how he was worried about me, something about how I seem withdrawn. He just came right out and said it, didn’t even try to mask the pity under false offers to spend time with me, or bring me a casserole, or make me a crappy milkshake. I told him I was fine. The audacity.

Thursday, November 17th, morning

I remember the moment I realized I had a problem. It was three weeks ago. I was walking my dog, who use to be his dog, down the bike path. I was watching the dancing autumn leaves chase an unsuspecting rock down a dirt hill. I saw Aaron walk past me. He was holding hands with a girl I didn’t recognize. She looked a little bit like me, only taller, with thicker eyebrows and a brighter smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled like that. He waved at me as they passed. My first thought was, “Who does he think he is?” Then, a gust of wind gave the leaves a further push ahead of the rock, and I started to wonder what would have happened if the wind hadn’t propelled the leaves forward. Would the rock have stood a chance? And then I wondered what it would be like if I was a rock? Would I wait for the wind to help me chase the leaves? Or