HOT SPRINGS—Monday morning, before I drove to Oaklawn Park, I walked the Ghetto Cat Loop in 32:04. I wrote two long stories and lost $6 on two bets. I am currently behind $5.40 for the season.
Roughly a dozen times Monday, I forgot that Jo was dead. I wondered where she was when I awoke at 7 a.m. I remembered a second or so later, but twenty minutes later, I went so far as to walk to my front door and open it to see if she wanted in. Much later, a little more than an hour ago, I wondered why I didn't hear her as I unlocked my front door. What's crazy is, less than a minute before that, I worried that she wasn't anywhere in sight as I pulled into my driveway. No kidding, I shook my head at my silliness, and then repeated it on my front porch. The deal is, I guess, Jo should still be here. She should've lived at least three or four more years. Of course. I wish there was a way she could've known how much I would miss her. On the other hand, fuck, I never imagined.
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