I spent the morning doing yoga with Highland Park’s Wife. Afterward, we walked to the local coffee shop together. I feel a compulsive need to talk incessantly when with her, in an attempt to connect, I assume. Although, we never talk about him, usually about yoga, dating, and our daughters. We both stood in line, ordered our coffees, and then parted ways as I went for cream. I left the coffee shop and turned left to cross the street to my car when I saw out of the corner of my eye, the three of them sitting at a table; the wife, Highland Park, and their six-year-old daughter. I only saw the back of HP’s head, but I saw The Wife and she did not see me. My throat caught for a minute, and my heart raced. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I should go over and say hello or keep crossing the street. I impulsively bent my head down and crossed the street telling myself the entire way that she saw me; she knew I was there, and she didn’t want me around. My face flushed as fumbled for my keys, convinced they were all watching me, laughing at my awkwardness. I drove away as fast as I could, feeling humiliated.
I cried on my couch at home, feeling very sorry for myself.
Then I got dressed and met my dear friend for lunch in Beverly Hills. She is beautiful and angelic and funny as shit. We laughed our asses off over kale salad.
Afterward, I drove down to Venice Beach to sit for an artist friend of mine. A talented, yet alcoholic, artist. Irish, nonetheless. Such a cliche. He has been begging me to “sit” for him for ages. It was boring as fuck except for when he told me about the theoretical physics book he was writing. After he had finished nearly a bottle of red wine by himself, he asked me if I would feel more comfortable with my clothes off. I told him I was fine with them on. The picture turned out rather lovely.
I hit an art opening Downtown on my way home. There were many earnest bearded young hipsters there. I felt out of touch.
I finally broke down and reached out to HP:
He responded that it was all a giant misunderstanding and that they had wanted me to sit with them but thought I had left before they could catch me.
It would have been the first time we were all together. With the kid. And apparently, their dog.
I am not sure how I feel about this.
I rounded out the night by grocery shopping, alone. On a Saturday night.
I miss my family.
I miss being a family.
I miss feeling like I had a fucking purpose on the weekends.
Tomorrow is Father’s Day.
We are going to spend it as a family.
The Ex Husband is coming over with our daughter, and we are going to breakfast.
I sent HP a text about something and his reply was a series of thumbs up emoji’s.
God, I feel so empty inside.