February 26, 2006

later Saturday night, 25 February 2006 [11:50 p.m.]: Keith –

Hi, again. Just wanted to say ‘Hi’ – I just miss hearing your voice so much. It’s been so long since we spoke – 380 days to be exact. I am forgetting what your voice sounded like – now, whenever I hear that lead singer from “Uncle Kracker” (“Follow Me”), I always think it’s your voice.

God, I miss you!

Just a sprinkling of stars tonight, but enough to say ‘hello’ and wish upon, eh?

I’m a mess honey, I really am. I’ve got no bloody money and nobody writes any more. I rang Rick the day before he got home on his leave and left a message with his flatmate and he didn’t bother to ring. He makes a goddamned fortune compared to me and it seems he always expects me to pay for the ‘phone calls. And I asked him to make arrangements to get his stuff out of here (I have been dragging it around for ALMOST TWO YEARS) but apparently he hasn’t bothered. I need the room and I am trying to get the place presentable so I can get someone in to share the rent but I guess he has forgotten. All Spring he went on and on about how he didn’t have any money and then he goes and tells me that he’s been putting at least $2,000 aside every month for a house deposit. When we were together I bought practically everything – washer, vacuum, dinners out – because he was so goddamned cheap. I am seriously irritated with him – you wouldn’t think it would be such an effort to write or ring, would you? (He did, I admit, buy me that Welsh flag when he went to the UK last year. Must have been in a good mood.)

I’m looking at Messenger and there are your two contact names – “fishingfool” and “K” – I cannot bring myself to delete them. Honey… I miss you so. And I know that I always will. But it’s my time now, things just have to start going better for me, they have to. I cannot go on any more, I really can’t. I try to make things change, I try to do the right things but things are just not working out. To be honest, they haven’t in a long, long time.

I’m tired, I’m strung out – I am going to go to bed. Tell me now – if I take all my sleeping pills, will you meet with me after I die or will you refuse? You know what they say, “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander”, so you damned well better (or I’ll tell St. Peter and no more Sleeman’s for you lot).

‘night, honey. Here’s a hug {{{HUG}}}.

- an upset, confused and hurting Susan

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