there’s a nice looking woman. she has black hair. she is wide. she reminds me of a moderately heavy woman i liked and didn’t like when she told me that she was obese.
this woman is seventy eight. she has a style that doesn’t negate her
sexuality. they have sites for men who like women in their seventies.
i don’t want to read the news. there is nothing happening. the same talking heads talking the same old shit.
the older man was talkative and then lost energy. the younger man talked about berries, employees, and tomatoes. he looks forward to training a young woman with a good attitude. they look too different to be father and son but are the perfect age difference.
two old ladies talk food, one mostly listens, another old lady was coughing up her lungs.
f has on an orange shirt ripped at the wrist. he used my mac to google an
article on usta about parents and tennis. i think the other coach has been
waylaid by broken toes and he is looking to take his students. he has a very warm middle eastern and familiar way about him. i sympathize that he is trying to make a living in portland far away from iran. he is taller than myself. i suppose he is six five. he doesn’t look as tall as myself. he is put together nicely, every muscle is equal to the other.
dave is the same. he doesn’t look me squarely in the face. he looks disemboweled and alcoholic. he has given up on his midsection. his hips are like a woman’s. i hope he has more than a t.v. dinner to go home to. i think he has loved ones. he asked me how the divorce was affecting my daughter. i said i was happy that my daughter has tennis in her life to keep her steady.
my parents divorced when i was 26, but at ten dave said. i don’t know. it has to be tough.
my parents divorced when i was five, i said.
does she get to see both of you, dave said.
she does, i said.
i never wanted the divorce. my ex wife thought it was better for t not to live in a toxic household. dave is too pathetic and affable to be angry at for asking me about my personal life. a year into our divorce i think my ex has simplified her life without me. when the divorce really gets to me i walk to where they live, a ten minute walk, and i look at the house to see if any of the lights are on or if i can see anyone living inside it and i feel like i still exist, that the life i had is still there even though i’m not part of it.
i haven’t produced anything after having produced something. i feel worthless.
the more i talk to my therapist the dumber i get.