Out of the Blue

Man, I keep trying to climb up out of this hole I’ve fallen into but every time I feel like I’ve found a good grip, my hand or my foot slips on something and I plummet back down to the bottom.  I don’t know who is going to come along and save us because, clearly, we are no longer in a position to save each other.  If I’m down here in this hole, how will I ever get to you in your canyon over there?

I don’t know what to do.

There is just this vast expanse of nothing as far as I can see.

You made me feel things that I thought had died.  I’m not even exaggerating. They were dead.  They had been in the process of dying the day Max’s dad walked into my life.  He killed me.  I let him.  I was the host.  He was the parasite.  My grandmother, when she was alive, used to say “He’s just a survivor.  He just survives.”  She was right.  He sucked every last drop out of me.  Then he left.  I was a carcass.  He was a tic.  I was dead.

And then along comes you.  Out of the blue.

You brought me back to life.  You don’t know that you did that.  I was stupid happy over you.  Crazy, mad, stupid happy.  I tried to play it cool when I would talk to you.  Sometimes, I’d wait hours to reply to your emails so you wouldn’t think I was too eager.  God, what a dumbass.  I had no idea what was coming.  If I had known, I wouldn’t have waited a second.  And I certainly would not have given you my number and told you to call me the next day.  I would have told you to call me right then.

Hindsight and all that bullshit.

Anyway, I’m just gonna hang out here in this hole for a while longer I guess.  I’ve been down here all week.  Maybe I can tunnel my way out like Andy Dufresne did in The Shawshank Redemption.  You be Red and meet me on that beach near Acapulco when you get out of your canyon.  Wait for me if you get there first.

P.S.  Taj Mahal is going to be in your neck of the woods in February (I was looking for a show to go to for my birthday and was hoping he’d be close to me).  You should go see him.  He’s coming to New Orleans in April, I think.  That’s not much of a drive for me so maybe I’ll go then.  I doubt he’ll be touring much longer.

Unflappable

The universe is trying to convince me you’re never coming back, you’re not out there and you deleted me from your life because you wanted to.  I’m really struggling to believe otherwise today.  I keep waiting for it to pass but it’s lingering.

Forgive me.

I’m sorry to burden you with my insecurities but I have them.  They’ve been talking to me all day and I can’t get them to shut the hell up.

Maybe I’m not as unflappable as you once believed me to be.

Do you remember saying that?  “You seem unflappable to me.”

It was when Max had the flu.

Maybe you chose the wrong word that day.

I’m far from unflappable.

I’m fragile and broken.

But I’m also not ready to give up on you.  I’m not giving up on you no matter how loudly the universe yells at me.  She can scream at me and throw baseballs at my head.  I’m not covering my ears or ducking.  My ear drums may collapse and my skull may crumble.

My heart can still feel you.

Maybe I am unflappable after all.

Or really, really fucking stupid.

Either way, you need to come back now and bring me your crumpled up body and your worn out bones and let me love the shit out them while there’s still time.  Or at least let me be friends with them.  I’m a great friend!  I promise I won’t try to touch you inappropriately or rub my boob on your arm or anything like that.  Hands to myself at all times.  I will not wipe that bit of caramel off your mouth and lick my finger afterwards.  I will not sit too close to you on the subway or stare at you dreamily while you’re reading a book or ordering your french fries.  I won’t take your arm when we’re crossing the street or try to kiss you when you read me that poem you found.  I mean…of course I won’t try to kiss you.  Nope, not me.

I will, however, send you cool shit for your birthday and all major holidays.  I’ll listen to you when you need to vent.  I will talk to you when you’re sad.  I’ll make you laugh when you need cheering up or even when you don’t.  I’ll read the books you recommend or watch the movies or listen to the music.  I’ll go to concerts with you and book signings and hole-in-the-wall shows. I’ll  talk to you about art and current events but only about politics if it’s really necessary.  And you can tell me all about your favorite baseball team and I’ll probably watch a game with you now and again.  I can do all that without jumping your bones.  I swear.  

But first.  Listen to Townes.  He knows what he’s talking about

Melancholy

mel·an·chol·y

 (mĕl′ən-kŏl′ē)

n.

    1. Sadness or depression of the spirits; gloom.
    2. Pensive reflection or contemplation.

I’m feeling rather melancholic today.  I’ve been listening to Townes Van Zandt a good deal.  I should really stop but I can’t.  So I won’t.

It’s all sad, gray, gloom.  The weather is even sad, gray, gloom.  I love sad, gray, gloom weather and I could handle sad, gray, gloom melancholy if you were still around.  It’s ok that you’re not so don’t go feeling bad about that.  I just miss you.

We had an almost tornado last night.  We were in the pantry with our helmets and pillows.  It eventually veered north but not before it caused me to genuinely worry.  I’m super talented at worrying.  Like if there was an award, I’d get it.

I worry about you all the time.  But not in an annoying way like “god, why am I worrying about this dude, ugh.”  More in a “damn I really hope he’s feeling alright and I wish I could make him feel better” kind of way.

I do wish that.

Max’s Christmas program is tomorrow.  I’ll try not to think about straddling you in a kitchen chair (god, I’m so inappropriate!) wearing only your discarded t-shirt from beside the bed; your musk all over it.

Oh, who am I kidding?  I’m gonna think about exactly that.  I think of exactly that all the time.  I want to straddle your lap, put my hands on your face, take your bottom lip between mine and suck it, swirl my tongue around it.  Your hands on my waist; you stiffening between my legs; Nina on the stereo:

Later, I’d tidy up your beard for you while I cooked you breakfast.

Well, hell.  That took an unexpected turn.  Strangely enough, I feel a little less melancholic now.  I know you don’t mind either so I’m not apologizing.  The thought of you still turns me on.  I am totally and completely wrecked over you.

In case you could use someone telling you this: you’re completely hot in every way…mind, body, soul.

Everything the same.

Total Package

“This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.”

Robert Kincaid said that to Francesca Johnson in The Bridges of Madison County.

Don’t make fun of me. I read that when I was a young girl on the cusp of puberty.  Most likely in my purple bedroom that I got to repaint after my sister left for college.  I was the only one left at home then.  Both my brothers had moved out years before that.  I was enamored with the story and with Robert Kincaid.  In my adolescent heart, he represented the total package.  I wanted a Robert Kincaid.

Apparently, a lot of other people felt the same way.  https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1995-06-20-mn-15025-story.html

Hordes of lonely housewives looking for some nourishment for their soul.

Or 13-year-old girls who spent the majority of their time daydreaming about a different life.

Cut me some slack on this one.  I was at the mercy of whatever books were left laying around after my mother finished them.  Mostly romance novels and everything by Stephen King.  There was also a bookmobile that came around about once a month but their selection wasn’t much better. There were no bookstores in my hometown and computers weren’t a thing.  We had to browse through our collection of Encyclopedia Britannica’s for research papers!  Egads!  My mom bought the set from a traveling salesman.  I remember they were expensive.

Here I am on the other side of my life now.  I’m not exactly prime real estate anymore.  I mean, my place isn’t bad or anything.  The paint is chipping a little and the shutters are sagging here and there but the place is rather quaint, at least. It’s got character.  You might pass it by unless you slowed down and took a longer look.

Whatever comes from these daily posts to you; whether they find you or not, whether they continue in there fervency or eventually wane over time; I only want you to know one thing:  Meeting you was the greatest pleasure of my life.  You brought me all the colors of the rainbow.  If all I ever get are those words we shared and nothing more, it will have been enough.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I doubt it.

Fuck it.
I’m gonna want you 4ever.
Robert Kincaid has nothing on you.

You’re the total package.

Long Monday

I’m having a real shit day today.

I yelled at Max this morning.  He didn’t want to wear the green shirt I picked out for him.  It’s the last week of school before Christmas break and each day they’re supposed to wear something different.  Today it was green for The Grinch.  Tomorrow it’s a tacky sweater.  Wednesday it’s red for their Christmas program.  Thursday it’s pajamas.  He didn’t like the shirt.  It was the only green shirt he has.  He said it was too tight.  It wasn’t.  We were short on time.  He was digging through his drawer to find another shirt.  I lost my temper.  Now, he’s at school in an orange shirt when he’s supposed to be wearing green and that breaks my goddamn heart.

I’ve spent most of the day feeling sorry for myself.  

I wrote this sixteen page poem about being a mom/soul guardian that spiraled way out of control before it was over.  I almost posted it but then I thought…hmm…I don’t want to show you my crazy all at once.  

So anyway, wanna read it?  It’s not actually 16 pages but it is a hot mess.   

I’ll spare you for now.  But someday I’m gonna make you read all my garbage.

It’s about time to go sit in the pick up line and wait for Max.  I don’t have any good songs today.  I’m not feeling the music at all.  I’m not feeling much of anything, really.  Well, besides what I feel for you but I’m not counting that.  I always feel electric for you no matter how shitty or blah my day has been.

I hope you still feel electric for me too. 


Oh wait.  I do have a song for you!  I was trying to think of what to name this post when I thought of ‘Long Monday.’  That’s a John Prine song I always wanted to play for you.  I was saving it to send to you after I got back home from meeting you for the first time.  But now works too.


Empty

My god, the emptiness.
It’s unbearable at times.

Why do I torture myself by reading the words you wrote to me?  I really need to stop but I can’t.  You’re so beautiful and alive.  In every way.  I can’t believe you’re gone.  I won’t stop believing you’ll find your way back but the agony of now is too much.

It sits heavy on my chest, crushing me under its weight, until I can’t breathe.
The despair!
A vacuous pit where light can’t penetrate.

I just let the emails pile up now.  There’s like 98 of them, I think.  I was cleaning them out as soon as they popped up but now I just let them hang out in some kind of hoarders paradise in my inbox.  It used to be so neat and orderly with only the two of us in there.

I haven’t been sleeping

My complexion is a dry riverbed

There are whole ravines under my eyes 

I’ve emptied out all the avenues of my heart;
cleared away all the clutter
except for yours.

I’ve hung your things upon the walls.

You’re the only one who lives there now.

As Far As I Can See

It’s Sunday morning again.
How many Sunday’s does this make?

I’m not keeping track anymore because it doesn’t matter.  I’ll still be sitting here at my kitchen table waiting for you to get back.  I won’t go anywhere til you get here.  Just walk in and say ‘hey.’  I’ll look up at you and smile.  That’s how easy it will be.

My coffee maker died.  It’s tragic.  This is the only morning of the week I make coffee at home.  The rest of the week, I have it when I get to work.  I put my little scoops in, poured the water, turned it on to brew….nothing.  Turned it back off.  Waited.  Turned it back on.  Nothing.  It died sometime between last Sunday and now and I don’t know its official time of death.  Could have been last Sunday afternoon or Tuesday mid-day.  Might even have been Thursday night.  Who can say?  Poor fella just went lights out when nobody was around and then had to sit there in his own death for god only knows how long.  Tragic.

So, now I need a new coffee maker.  Christmas is coming up in 10 days if you were wondering what to get me.  I don’t want anything fancy.  And please no Keurig or anything like that.  If you could find one in red, that would be nice. I have a red toaster and a red microwave.  I’m not sure why.  Just seemed like the thing to do when I was replacing my old appliances.  Get some red shit.  Okay!  I don’t even particularly like red.  But red it is.  I have red cooking utensils, too.  How’d this happen?  Well, anyway, a red coffee maker would be swell.  No french press or anything like that.  Just a standard coffee maker.  I like the sound it makes when it’s brewing.  The louder the better.  And the smell of coffee all over the house.  That’s a nice feeling

Today is my dad’s birthday.  We’ll go hang with him later, bring him a cake and all that jazz.  Max loves going to his house.  He lives in the ‘country’ and has a golf cart that he (Max) has only just learned to drive.  My parent’s divorced when I was a senior in high school.  They had been married almost 30 years at that point.  I never got around to telling you that.  It was a thing I prayed for my entire childhood, the divorce.  My dad wasn’t all that nice when we were growing up.  I was afraid of him a lot of the time.  Sometimes he didn’t come home for days at a time and my mom had four kids to deal with (I’m the youngest!).  She’s a saint.  Truly.  He’s mellowed a lot in his old age, as I suspect most people do.  He’s a much better grandpa than he was a dad.

Gross, what a bunch of downer shit.  I’m sorry.  I haven’t had my coffee.  I’m drinking this green tea instead and it’s just not working.

It’s only 10 days until Christmas and you might be appalled to know I haven’t bought the first gift.  Not even a card.  Nothing.  Zero.  This is standard for me, though.  I do this every year.  I know Amazon’s shipping schedule by heart and I know exactly when I need to order something to guarantee delivery on or before December 24.  I’m such a dare devil.  Can you stand it?  Seriously, I don’t know who these people are that start shopping for Christmas after Halloween and are done by Thanksgiving.  How do you even know what you’re getting a person that soon?  I mean, I think about that shit all year and it never clicks until around December 20 and I’m all ‘that’s perfect, now where the hell do I find it.’  How do you know in October that you’ll still want someone to have whatever crap thing you picked up for them when Christmas rolls around?  Crazy!  So, I do my shopping last minute.  I hope that’s not a deal breaker.  Don’t worry, I won’t stress out over it or run around the house wringing my hands about it.  The presents will all appear under the tree on the night of December 24 and you’ll be none the wiser that they only just arrived that morning.  I like to live on the edge.  Wanna come too?

Last night, I listened to Catarina by Joe Purdy and I was going to share that with you because I love these lines:

Well we could pop a train or a one-way ticket out
We can just get in my piece of shit car and drive all night ’til the gas runs out
We could stay right here, watch the city cave in
We could lick our wounds until they’re warm again
And I don’t care anymore who sees this mess
Cause you’re the only one I’m trying to impress

I love the vulnerability in all that; from the piece of shit car to not caring who sees this mess.

But then, another song came on after that I’ve never heard and it punched me right in the gut.  I had to drive around and listen to it.

You’re as far as I can see.

I just wanted you to know that.

Alright For Now

I may not get a chance to talk to you today.  I’ll be stuck at work for a while.  You’ll be glad to know I brought a copy of Swann’s Way to pass the time.  I couldn’t wear my daisy dukes, though.  It’s a little cold out.  Anyway, it will be later when I get home and I’m not sure if I’ll have time to serenade you with my words.  Am I serenading you or screeching at you? I can’t tell.  I hope my words cover you like a soft, warm blanket and not a scratchy one that even fabric softener can’t save.

I’m gonna let Tom Petty serenade you today.  I sang this song to Max every single night for the first 5-ish years of his life.  He doesn’t really want me to sing to him anymore but I hope he’ll remember that I did someday.

I like the idea of being ‘alright for now.’  Not later, not before, just right now.

I hope, in this moment right now, you’re alright.

Dumb Ass

Oh god, it’s just occurred to me that I have created this whole narrative about what might be happening and none of it may be true.  I’m writing all this stuff to you based, in part, on what I believe you might be feeling without any actual proof that you are feeling any of that.  Fuck me.  Maybe you deleted me because you wanted to!

Oh jesus.  I need an inhaler.  I think I’m gonna pass out.

Well, I hope you never read any of this if that’s the case.  Because, DAMN.  That’s super fucking embarrassing.  Like, whoah homegirl, you need to relax and chill out, baby.  This man ain’t studying you and you have all but asked him to marry you.

Fuck Me.

Just For You

Take me out of the general population ASAP.  I don’t belong here.  Put me in a straight jacket in a padded cell so I can stop bombarding you with these words.

Jesus.

The cheese in here is so thick my knife can’t cut through it.  I can’t help it.  I told you I was a total cheeseball.  I’m gonna dial it back some, though.  I’m getting too extra in here and I don’t want to overwhelm you.

I don’t think you’re easily overwhelmed but this may be a bit much.  I have a tendency to overshare.

So anyway.  How’s your day? What are you working on now?

Blah.

I know you don’t want to make small talk.  We never did.

But there’s just this echo in here now and I’m tired of the sound of my own voice.

It’s Friday.  Which means absolutely nothing.  I’m having my hair done again but I’m not going camping the day after this time.  I wish it were November 1st again and I was going camping.  That’s when you got sick, though.  Nope.  I don’t wish that then.  I wish it were early afternoon on November 21st forever and you were still telling me you hoped you’d ‘make me laugh very hard for a very long time.’

But it’s not.  It’s December 13th and that makes it a total of way too many days without talking to you.

Should I stop writing to you here?  If this goes on much longer you’re going to realize how lame I actually am (assuming you haven’t already).  But that’s ok!  I am lame.  So, so lame.  Lamer than lame.  Fucking Lame with a capital L.  But I’m kinda fun too and…other stuff that I can’t think of right now.  I’m also flawed and ridiculous at times.  I’m brain-dead, half-dead, un-wed.  Ha.  All true.  I’ll recount for you, in verse if you wish, all the ways in which I suck if it will make you feel better.  And I don’t mean ‘suck’ as in your nether regions.  Although, I can recite those too.  Again, only if it would make you feel better.  Obviously.

I think you are still at the bottom of that canyon and I want to come, too.  You don’t belong down there but I don’t think you can see any light from where you’re sitting. I wish you could see this flashlight I keep waving towards you.

I’ll be here when you get ready to climb out.  And then you’ll pick up all the pieces of my heart and glue them all back together exactly as they should be and then you’ll carry me over there behind that giant boulder and push yourself as deep into me as that canyon I’m never letting you fall into again.

Then we’re going to walk home, my hand in yours.

P.S.  I’m sorry, I can’t help it.  You make me weepy and sappy and full of all the good feels.  I’ll try harder to not be so soft next time.

Here, let’s see if this doesn’t create some balance.

Turns out that was just as corny, really. I guess no one is immune to matters of the heart.