I’ve been keeping really late hours these past couple of weeks.  I can’t hide from the day anymore because there’s a small human that lives here who absolutely does not want to hide from the day at all.  Not even a little bit.

I’ve always felt better in the night even though she scares the hell out of me.  Why is that?  The night falls around me like a soft shawl across my shoulders and then like a knife slashing my shower curtain.  She is a wily little bitch, isn’t she?  I revel in her.  I love the way she both comforts and frightens in the same space.

The day, though?  That guy is such a giant douche.  He shows up before the night is even ready to go home and starts fucking shit up right away.  We’re all chill as fuck and riding out the last few moments of  peace and then Day arrives and starts yelling at everybody to get the fuck up.  He douses his fucking sunshine all over the goddamn place until nobody can see shit anymore.  Then, the goddamn birds start squawking at each other because they don’t have a clue what the fuck is going on.

What a shit-show.

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

mel·an·chol·y

 (mĕl′ən-kŏl′ē)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

POST SCRIPT:

Whatever it is, I wish you would tell me instead of ignoring me for going on 4 days now and almost an entire week since I last spoke to you.  And whatever it is, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I did.  R emailed me a thing and I responded nonchalantly to it because I honestly did not think it was that big of a deal.  I asked if you were ok.  That’s all I cared about.  When he said you were and asked if I wanted to tell you anything, I thought making light of the situation was the best thing to do so you would understand it didn’t bother me.  IT DOES NOT BOTHER ME!

If you feel betrayed by him for telling me something you did not want me to know….I can understand that.  But he did tell me and I do know.  And I don’t care.  I didn’t care then and I don’t care now.  You wanted to tell me something other than the truth and I don’t care about that either!  You are mere mortal after all.  Your human brain panicked and in that panic, it made a decision to cover up something from the new person in your life who you thought may not understand.  I get it.  A thousand and one times I get it.  And I don’t judge you for it.  If anything, I wish R would have told me whatever it is you wanted him to tell me because I’d still have you. I’d bury your secret in a thousand catacombs never to be found or heard again and if I were none the wiser for the rest of the days of my life, so be it.  I’d rather live in ignorance of one tiny little mishap that happened to you than to know anything at all about it if it has caused you to retreat from me.  Just come back.

Has anybody ever called you ‘baby’?
I mean, like a lover.
Not the lady down at the hardware store who asks
‘did you find everything alright, baby?’
Not the old woman at the grocery store,
‘could you reach that for me, baby?’
And definitely not your mom when you fell off your skateboard,
‘oh, baby, come here; let me look at that.’

I mean,
has a lover ever called you ‘baby’?
Have you ever heard the word baby roll off a woman’s tongue
when she’s on top of you and she’s sucking your bottom lip
in-between hers so gently
that ‘baby’ is a mere breath that floats into your mouth;
a quiet sigh of release
‘baby.’

Has anybody ever slow danced with you in the kitchen,
a pot of soup simmering on the stove?
Made you cornbread from scratch to go in that pot of soup?
Has anybody ever driven all night and part of the day
just to get to where you are?
Only to have to leave the next morning?
Has anybody ever rode you hard and fast, or slow and easy,
as many times as you could stand it
just to quiet the voices in your head?


In the morning I’ll be gone, so,
I want you to sit down now
and let all the weight you’ve been carrying 
dissolve under my hands.
Let me whisper to you all the ways you make me weak
until you slump under the heavy blanket of my love.

I’ll feed you this hot soup and cornbread then
to nourish your body.

And when you’ve had your fill of that,
I’m going to release the darkness back out of your soul
until you explode
over and over again. 

‘baby’