Mad Girl

I haven’t gotten a single letter all week. They haven’t posted pictures of his group on Facebook in weeks. It’s almost like he doesn’t exist. I’m going through serious withdrawal. He doesn’t exist. “I think I made you up inside my head” (Sylvia Plath “Mad Girl’s Love Song”).

I go to tell him things and then realize he won’t answer for several weeks. And, when he responds, I won’t even remember what I had written in the first place. My in-an-instant world has crashed. No internet. No telephone. Get out a pen and write by candlelight. Snail mail.

My room is a pigpen. My pretty ring doesn’t look so pretty next to chipped nail polish and torn-off fingernails.

I ran this morning at 9:00. Checked the mail (no letter from Robby). Showered. Went to work from 11-4. Came home. Went to work from 5-9. My choice of clothes today came from my dirty clothes hamper. The contents is still scattered around my room. This was the second day in a row of very un-Emilylike behavior.

Tomorrow, I’d like to get up, run and clean my room. Throw a load of laundry in.

…I think I made this up inside my head.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

~Plath (“Mad Girl’s Love Song”)

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