So - I tried to pull it together today. And Maria and I went to
classes, and I actually did make it to the paper conference at the law
school, and I listened and thought "this woman does it right" Gestures
right. Right air of confidence. right amount of engagement with
audience. Not too embracing, not distant. She had flair, and yet was
"professional."

And I wondered, can I ever ever reclaim, locate, find my verve again?
I must walk. Being crippled hurts me emotionally, it debilitates my
spirit more. I am not a trooper handicapped woman. I am, actually, a
pain in the *****.

So, long day. Get home ready to work and there it is: John's email.
Yes, I read it. I read it for every year passes and I always hope that
now - now - there will be understanding, repair, insight, and we will
somehow find each other again. Perhaps not as lovers, but as the two
bonded humans we were joined at the hip by our minds' delights.

It was polite. It was even. It was . . . .written to someone who long
ago lost any significance to the writer. He wrote as if I were a
"stage" an "event" of a troubled innocent youth. It hurt. It really
hurt. Am crying as I write this and it doesn't help to cry. I am not
going to "do" anything. I have no plan like I usually do, no smart
words to shoot back at him, just heaviness on my heart.

It feels like loss of a son, loss of a student, loss of a father, loss
of a vato, loss of a lover, all distinct and each piercing.

It s . . .okay. No one can help really. I myself have to accept. It
is like Contrarian said, going back and back repeating old habits to
fix it this time. A shrink once told me if you lose an arm you can't
just keep trying over and over to stick it back on. You have to learn
to live without it. I am so stubborn I keep trying to glue, stitch,
tape it back on. I lost it. My soul is disfigured from it. But I MUST
do something with that disfigurement.

Oh god, I want my mother. I am so so so exhausted.

Rosena