Minutes In A Day

How many minutes are in a day?
How many of those minutes am I asleep?
Those are the only minutes I don’t think of you.

I told an older gentleman to ‘have a good day’ today.  He said ‘I’ll have a good day if you promise to have one also.’  Poor old fella’ had no clue that none of my days are good anymore.  I didn’t bother to tell him.  I just smiled and said ‘yes sir.’

I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I cry freely and without reason.  Max says ‘why are you crying, mama?’  ‘My cup runneth over,’ I tell him.  I sit in my office and sob over something I’ve read on the web.  Tiffany looks in and says ‘really, Ms. Stephanie?’  Yes, Tiff.  Really.

Tiffany.
She texted me on Mother’s Day.  ‘I love you, Ms. Stephanie.’
I cried.

Programs at school.  I cry.
The marching band in the Homecoming parade, the drums get right inside me.  I cry.
Videos of dogs being awesome.  I cry

Sad news.  Tears.
Happy endings.  More tears

I have road rage.  A lot.  I flip people off, honk my horn.  Once, I gave double birds to this high school girl when she turned in front of me.  And not just discreet double birds but arms all the way out to the windshield double birds.  And one time, I slowed down to a crawl behind these two women who were jogging in the very middle of the road and refused to get over.  I could have gone around them, there were no other cars, but fuck those bitches.  I can’t stand privilege in any form.

I also give whatever I have to give to this man who shows up at my door from time to time.  I have no idea where he came from or why he picked my house.  He comes by wanting to rake the yard or to bring me these dirty dishes he’s found and wrapped up in a plastic bag.  I never make him rake the yard and I always take the dishes. 

I have very strong opinions about a lot of things that don’t matter and mild opinions about a lot of things that are supposed to matter.  I’m rather good at standing on a soap box and delivering whole monologues about nothing at all. 

I’m so much in my own head most of the time that I miss a lot of things around me.

I don’t pay enough attention to detail.
I let Max sleep in as late as possible on school days.
I don’t run a tight ship.  At all.  I am mostly always just winging it.

I don’t keep up with current events the way a person my age is supposed to.

I am a mixture of love, hate, and indifference.  I suspect the same of you.  I suspect the same of every single person alive at this very minute.  Right now.

This life will eventually end for me and nothing will have mattered.  Nothing except this love I have to give, freely and without conditions.  To Max, my family, any animal anywhere anytime….

 To you.

I want you to be exactly who you are at all times, without regret, and in no particular order.  I want to hold your hand when it’s hard and laugh with you when it’s easy.  I want to make love to you in the early dawn of day and fuck you like mad when the moon rises.  I want to read your favorite books and watch your favorite movies and cook all your favorite foods.  I want to get mad at you and then make up.  I want to do the dishes with you.  I want to roll my eyes at you.  I want to buy your toothpaste and shaving cream.  I want to fold your socks.  I want to get annoyed by you.  I want to bring you medicine when you’re sick.  I want to dislike some weird thing you don’t even know you do.  I want to nourish your soul so completely that you never feel hunger again.

Listen, life is going by too fast now.  I don’t know how I got here.  The years that led me here feel like they were only minutes in a day.

They weren’t.

They were whole lifetimes without you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s