W E E K  F O U R :

A Word From Anita Liberty:

       anchorotize

    {Staying celibate so that you can conserve 
         and redirect your sexual energy.
A good word to know if you're just not getting any. 
      "I'm not a loser, I'm anchorotizing."}


Those Things

I'm tormented.
I can't stop thinking about all those awful things I said to you.
I want to take it all back.
I want to turn back the clock.

You didn't deserve to hear those things.
I should have been more careful.
I should have been more thoughtful.
I didn't mean it. Any of it.

Like the time I said you were incredibly attractive.
Not true.
Or the time I said you could do anything you set your mind to.
You can't.
Or the time I said you were the only person 
who could make me laugh.
Don't make me laugh.
Or the time I said you had plenty of hair left.
Don't make me laugh.

I look back and realize that I was blind.
But now that my eyes have been forced open
by your departure,
I'm relieved to finally tell the truth:
My parents never liked you.
Your writing is awkward and uncomfortably self-conscious.
You shouldn't be allowed to drive.
and you look really bad naked.


EXCERPT FROM ANITA LIBERTY'S DIARY

I decided to write back to Mitchell. Here's what I wrote:

     Dear Mitchell,

     I got your card in the mail yesterday.  I was surprised at how 
     vulnerable you seemed.  How unguarded.  Exposed even.  I was so 
     surprised in fact that I showed your card to everyone.
     
     My best friend was with me when I got it, so I had to show it to 
     her. She thinks I'm lucky.  None of her ex-boyfriends have ever 
     come crawling back.
     
     I was going to have dinner with my sister that night and since I 
     had the card with me, I showed it to her too.  She said that when
     you apologize for not having been a more attentive lover, you 
     actually seem pretty sincere.
     
     I guess my sister must have told my parents that I had gotten a
     card from you, so of course they wanted to see it.  After reading
     it, my mom said she felt sorry for you and why didn't I give you 
     a second chance.  My dad said that you were right, I did deserve 
     better and a friend of the family knows another single young man 
     who wants to meet me.
     
     My next door neighbor marked it as the sign of a desperate man, 
     but the doorman was able to discern a certain strength of 
     conviction, especially when you said that you'd never be able 
     to find someone as smart and beautiful as I am.
     
     I read it aloud to a packed house at the Poetry Club.  
     Everyone laughed.
     
     I faxed a copy to the New York Times on a whim and now Anna 
     Quindlen wants to return to the Times to do a guest column, print
     the card in its entirety, and title it "Men and the Cult of 
     Delayed Self-Awareness."
     
     I looked at the card again by myself before I went to bed.  
     There's really nothing between the lines.  It's all there in black 
     and white.  You miss me.  You want me back.  I won.  I knew I 
     would.  But now I have it in writing.
     
     Not yours yet,
     Anita




Use of this excerpt from How to Heal the Hurt by Hating by Anita Liberty may 
be made only for purposes of promoting the book, with no changes, editing, or 
additions whatsoever, and must be accompanied by the following copyright notice:  
Copyright ©1998 Suzanne Weber.  All Rights Reserved.