Death by A Thousand Cuts

On Friday night I went to a fancy party. A fancy LA party. I was there as a guest of a friend. She’s good to me.

I love celebrities. I love pop culture. I pride myself on being up on the latest, trendiest news and people. It’s meaningless, but it’s silly, and I need some silly in my life ’cause I am a fucking glass-half-empty, pessimistic, doomsday believer.

I saw lots of famous people on Friday. Super fun. I never approach anyone and in fact I clam up pretty fast. But the sighting itself — that’s the shit. Love it.

Towards the end of the party I saw Michael K. Williams. And if you don’t know who he is then you haven’t seen the best TV show ever — The Wire. Michael K. Williams was/is and will always be OMAR LITTLE. Great character/great acting/great show.

I watched him leave the party — couldn’t take my eyes off him.

And then I had to hide my tears, because I could not text the one person who would be as excited as me to see Michael K. Williams — my soon to be ex-husband — my partner for over 30 years — the man who understands how excited I would be to see Omar — the guy who I watched The Wire with — my longtime “other half” that is now gone and leaves me as a half.

There’s been so much growth and good and fun and joy and happy since we split but in a second, the emptiness engulfed me. It was as if a black halo surrounded me as I held my cocktail and the music and chatter sounded like it was suddenly muffled by the ocean. I felt like everyone could see how heartbroken I am. Still. After all this time.

But of course, no one could see it and it passed quickly and I returned to the conversation and laughing and celebrity-scouting.

It was just one of many, many cuts. With more to come.

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