I would put Secret Garden on in the background first thing in the morning when I'm doing my makeup. I would listen to Glen Hansard for the rest of the day as I drown myself in work. I would skip the Muni and just walk home late at night when I get back in the city. On my way back home I would hum an oldie or Faye. Somewhere between that porn store on Market and that male strip club on Bush I would find myself in tears, feeling sorry about everything, and by the time I reach the liquor store around the corner of my apartment, I would stop.

I would fall back into this--the whole night yesterday and the whole day today all I could think of was falling back into mourning mode. Because yesterday someone finally cut through your lies, even though I never wanted to know, and perhaps this was worse than everything else on our laundry list. I feel 'never' and I feel 'nothing,' and it is the first time that I feel that way about things. I want to mourn and I want to push you over so you fall.

Instead, I would come home to see my wonderful roommate, best friend. She would ask me how my day was, and tell me about something that happened that day. Maybe it'd be about my new neighbor who seems to do nothing but smoke weed all day; maybe it'd be about a new sketch she'd made or a new proof she'd thought of.

If I could, I would still sit on the front steps by the next building under the blue awning until I am ready to call her to come down and get me. Except I realize lies don't make me sad; they lift burdens off my shoulders.