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August 10, 2006

I want her to call me.

She wants to distance herself from me because, she thinks it will hurt me, to see her all drug-addled and fucked up.

I tell her I'll deal.

I've also been suspicious. Because I know that one of her coping mechanisms is sex in addition to drugs and rock n' roll.
But I have to pretend that doesn't bother me, either.
I have to pretend I'm too suburban, too comfortable, to be brought down by her behavior.
I've already told her we can't be exclusive with each other. That's one step toward getting rid of that jealousy.
It doesn't, really, not yet. I'm still paranoid about the past. I'm still worried that she'll fucking die.
There are these bigger concerns, then the smaller ones, and they all seem big to me. And I have to put my own concerns aside for hers, because there's no time for mine.

I miss her.