Chelsea Martin - Even Though I Don't Miss You

I became aroused while I was in the shower, and I started fantasizing about how I might seduce you once I was finished with my shower. I imagined jumping onto you from behind and wrapping my limbs around you. But in my fantasy I sort of hurt you by jumping onto you, and you had also been holding a bowl of cereal that I hadn't imagined until after I imagined jumping on you, and I made the cereal spill all over the floor, and you seemed tired and looked at me and sarcastically asked me if I was trying to seduce you and then you made me clean up the cereal. By the time my fantasy was over and I left the bathroom, I was noticeably irritated.

You said, "You seem in a weird mood."

I said, "You always say something like that when it's actually you who is in a weird mood and you just don't want to take responsibility for your own weird mood because you don't want to take the time to analyze your own feelings in life."

And you said, "What's going on?"

And of course I couldn't say, "I'm really mad and hurt and confused over this hypothetical melodrama I just went through while I was in the bathroom," so I just said, "What the fuck?"

And you said, "What the fuck?"

And I said, "It's an interesting question."

Now whenever someone asks me something about you I say, "I don't know. I don't remember," without even listening to the question.

I've never meant "I love you" so much as when I tried to say it to you by using words like, "resolve" and "supposedly," or when I tried to say it by using a metaphor about waking up with someone else's Band-Aid on.

This poem is about death and, to some extent, life. I'm drinking wine because I'm trying not to drink anymore. Drinking wine is the closest thing to not drinking that I can manage right now.

Is it overbearing of me to text you more than once per year asking if I still have the correct phone number?

If you don't respond, what is the maximum number of follow-up texts I can send within the month?

Does this number change if I email instead of text?

What if in the emails I mention that I have a bad feeling about the state of your health because I haven't heard from you?

What is the maximum number of times I can contact you per year confirming your contact information? I'm just asking.

When I texted you about my party, you texted back, "Who is this?" and I didn't respond and you didn't come to my party.

Of course, it was bound to happen this way. In terms of the sequence of my life and the habits I have as a human, I could have predicted that I would feel this way and you would not know I feel this way and, given that I was once a little girl who felt it was important to pretend to like rice cakes, I was basically designed to internalize my feelings until they became obsessions and the obsessions became part of who I was (like a freckle or tumor) and you were bound to be in my dreams almost every night, everyone should have expected that, and those dreams were going to affect my perception of you, and there should never have been any question that my image of you would warp in my mind and you would become, to me, someone only vaguely resembling the person you used to be, and this fact alone was going to greatly influence my perception of the world. And of course you weren't going to come to my party and of course I was going to pretend to enjoy my party and spend the whole night pretending not to watch the door.

I'm taking screenshots of the image on Photo Booth, instead of clicking the take photo button. There are pizza rolls in the freezer and I've barely considered heating them up. Guess I just feel really brave.

I dreamt about an uneventful trip to the post office. I was in the post office but in the dream you had recently left me, or hurt me somehow. Standing in line at the post office was my attempt at appearing casual about the situation, even though I genuinely felt casual.

I wish I knew it was a dream, though. I would've eaten some pizza rolls or something.

You said, "You have a curly-Q in your pubic hair."

I said, "Oh."

And you said, "Does that offend you?"

And I said, "No, I'm flattered."

Yesterday I saw a girl walking down the street, tears streaming down her entirely unexpressive face, mouth open, while emitting no noise and neglecting to wipe the tears from her face and neck, so now I know for sure I'm not the only person who does that.

I bought you a pair of shoes once. I never told you this, but there was some problem with the shoe selection when I bought them. They didn't have the color I wanted, or I had to go to several stores to find the right size. Something like that. I remember crying.

But then you thanked me too much for the shoes. It was annoying.

You woke up from your nap while I was still watching you. You swore that you would want to make out with me if you didn't happen to be so physically ill. At the time, I thought it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me. Looking back, I think you were just trying to get me to give you my Pepto Bismal.

I've always hated myself because I'm impatient, self-righteous and quick to judge others, but I" m starting to realize that I hold myself to too high a standard, making it impossible to be happy, which is another thing I need to start being down on myself about.

I said, "I think I'm going to be vegetarian."

But looking back, yeah, my feelings are kind of hurt, because I couldn't've been more explicit in saying that I wasn" t going to be giving out my Pepto Bismal that night.

You said, "What was it, again, that derailed your confidence the other day? I can't remember."

I said, "Conspiracy theory about aliens."

And you said, "Ohhh, that's right."

I've been meaning to ask what is your personal definition of the term 'heat conductivity?'

You told me not to worry, but I wasn't feeling worried. I thought maybe there was something I could be worried about. I tried not to worry about figuring out what it was that I could but should not be worried about. I tried to comfort myself by thinking about the things I knew I could be worried about, each of which I was certain you weren't referring to when you told me not to be worried, and told myself not to worry about them.

You pointed to my backpack and asked if it was a backpack.

I tried to say something to you about my feelings. I was looking for some kind of warmth. A kind of connection to indicate that I was experiencing the same world that someone else was experiencing. I tried to indirectly express this but you said, "Stop talking about heat conductivity, Chelsea. No one cares. I don't even think you care," and you disconnected from chat.

There is a piece of clothing thrown on the floor in the shape of what I look like to myself.

Yesterday I cried over a 30-second trailer for a Robin Williams movie I saw fifteen years ago.

I said that I wanted to have a baby.

I said, "My body is strong enough, and it will be a good joke to play on my future self."

Jokes about pregnancy are really funny because you have never thought so.

I said, "It feels like we're at the point in the relationship where I can start pooping with the door open and start saying I love you so much and denying that anyone else has ever been attractive."

It's upsetting to feel so close to someone yet not have the ability to control their thoughts or effectively manipulate their feelings. Sex is ultimately disappointing because a body becoming separate from another body is a cruel reminder that two bodies can't be merged in any emotionally sustainable way.

I'm not saying I felt lonely during sex but if I thought about it afterwards it did seem lonely.