The other day I had sex, the first time in a while. I enjoyed it. The next day, my roommate from college sent me email that read,

Paul, your ex-girlfriend called up and invited herself out to Bloomington, Indiana for her spring break to visit me. I didn't know how to say "I don't trust your motives," so I said, "yes." I feel uncomfortable about it.

My heart pumped jealous blood into my brain and fingers. A crack of anger went off in my chest.

"I don't care who she fucks, even if it's my ex-roommate," I extrapolated. Then I breathed one long outward breath. The pressure subsided, and I amended, "I don't care who she loves, either."

I wrote him that I was uncomfortable, that I felt odd about it, but

Who knows why she needs to see him? If she needs to crack into other parts of my life, in my absence, and rationalize it in whatever way she chooses, I can't change it. But it's repulsive behavior. My ex-roommate is 650 miles from her, yet she suddenly "really wants to see him?" Paul's friends. Collect the whole set.

Still, even though I've already made it, the judgement isn't mine to make. And the news comes right as I've gotten her taste out of my mouth. I cleaned my apartment with a vengeance. I'm installing shelves, choosing colors to paint my walls. For right now, the facts of my life--the litanies, hysterics, and the shallow spots, are leaving my focus in exchange for writing more, working more, and living like a person. Not every day, but more days than before.

And after all, this was a woman who, raised an Athiest, yelled at me when I tried to pray aloud, to show her what it was like. "Stop talking to no one. I hate it," she said. And I couldn't explain that, despite my own peculiar athiesm, dabbed with a little agnosticism on good days, I was actually speaking with someone.