Mr. W and I are in personal rafts/innertubes, like we were in Jamaica a few weeks ago. We are alone, and adrift in a dark river that has a cognizable current that we are paddling against. He was at first next to me, paddling, and I was keeping up with a little difficulty. He then pulls a bit ahead of me, efficiently fighting the current, and I feel like I’m just being pulled back as I struggled with my paddle. In the background was some distant ominous-sounding roar that I had been ignoring or not acknowledging. A nervousness is pulling in the pit of my stomach. I’m now about 2 feet behind him, and I cry out to him. He turns and looks at my face and my tears, and I reach out an arm to him, begging him to help me come back to him. To my utter shock, he coldly turns around and continues to paddle on his own way. I yell his name again, and it becomes apparent that he has forsaken me. Confused and hurt, I pause in the paddling as I watch his back and innertube get smaller and smaller. Suddenly, I am surrounded in the deafening noise that had snuck up upon me. Waterfall. I scream for him again, and he doesn’t even turn around this time. As I start to fall backwards over the waterfall into darkness, I feel less terrified than I feel betrayed and abandoned.

I woke up and saw myself crawl out of bed in my mirror-lined closet. I was surprised at the flat appearance of my stomach, the slight outline of abdominal muscles in the moonlight. Or maybe it was the streetlight. I stumbled into the bathroom and weighed myself. I’m within 1.5 pounds of my goal weight range. The only thing guaranteed to make me dump weight is relationship problems.