I need to find someone to give this to.
Do you want it?
What is it, anyway?
I don’t really know.
But surely someone wants it.
Someone out there wants the thing I have.
I want their thing too.
(No, not that “thing.”
Well, ok. Yeah. I want that too.
I’ve been looking around trying to find someone like you to give my it to but I haven’t run across any more you’s out there. Why is that? I mean, surely there are others like you, right? I can’t find them. Where do they hang out?
I’ve been looking around town.
They’re not here.
Conversation is a lost art. There are too many LOLs and emojis and not enough punctuation or thought. And every music recommendation is Hall & Oates or CCR. Both of which I adore but are you listening to anything new? Do you have any new artists you like? What happens when you become a certain age that you only listen to the music from your youth? I love it and I love old music, obviously. But I don’t want you to send me links to “Proud Mary” or “Maneater.” If we’re going back in time, hit me with something obscure that I’ve likely never heard. I want to hear something other than radio hits. All I can imagine is some aging bastard swaying his hips around the camp fire with a Bud Light in his hand and belting out “Livin’ on a Prayer” while his teenage daughter cringes and rolls her eyes. “Livin’ on a Prayer” is awesome but we’ve all heard it a million times. Come on. Give me something else. Anything. Guess what I get when I ask? Garth fucking Brooks. Bye.
I don’t know why this is important to me. But it is. I want to listen to music while I cook dinner and while I’m riding in the car or lying in bed on a Sunday morning and I don’t want to hear Top 40 hits from the past 40 years. Please. There’s a time and place for those. But those times and places are not on a Sunday morning after we’ve made each other forget about the day, or Wednesday evening after Max has gone to bed and there’s this new song I want to play for you, or Saturday afternoon when we’re in the kitchen together planning a feast for the evening, or some gloomy day when we’re riding in the car going nowhere at all.
I want to listen to books on long car rides. I want you to read to me sometimes at night before bed. I want to turn off the TV and sit in the silence with you. I want to show you things I write and I know you’ll tell me honestly if they’re any good and I won’t be upset because it’s you and I’m me. I want to laugh at inappropriate jokes and everything stupid. I want to laugh for no reason at all. I want to feel safe. I don’t want things to matter as much as time. I want to sleep on the ground with you (ok, maybe an air mattress) and look at the stars in some far off place we’ve driven to.
Mostly, I just want to wash the dishes and take walks with someone who talks to me about things I’ve never heard of while he’s rinsing or holding my hand on our stroll.
Maybe that’s too much to ask for in one person.
I’ll keep looking, I guess. I’ve been looking my whole life anyway.
Here’s a cute pic of Hank and Skittles.
I sent that to my sister. She said “Why does Hank look like he has fake legs?” I LOL’d and sent her some emojis. LOL. But seriously, they do look fake! They’re 100 percent his legs, though.
And a song. Have I shared this before? I kind of dig this kid and this song: