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April 14, 2012
I FEEL fairly well jammed up with a sadness that aspires toward grief. I range like a cheetah across my life until I have to deal with K., and then everything is molasses and sinkhole.

And not even every time ó thatís the hell of it. Usually it goes well enough. We hand off, we inform, we make friendly inquiries. Sometimes we part with a hug, or else an ironic handshake.

How to describe the effect? I had fun with the boys yesterday. So today she punishes.

I loved her; I did. No more.

Please, God, mediation. Let me sign something.