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once more, woken in the night. this time with a slap of a book on my forehead. not graceful, not gentle but perhaps it is difficult to move matter and you have to make the best of it. anyhow, i doubt the intention was to cause pain but simply wanting to communicate and what was communicated but his presence? "i'm here, do you see me? " was he angry about the changes i made, or that the dogs were sleeping on the bed with me? "i miss you" is what i wished i'd said but i was too startled to think.
forget the walk today. i don't think my gut will let me get that far. i suppose this is the flu and i'm overdue. its best just to hunker down and let it do its thing. who am i to question the wisdom of the organism? thank god for books. and fizzy water. and hot water bottles. days like this stop time here while the world goes on outside. i don't care, my joints ache and suddenly i'm cold. it will pass, and i'll forget how bad i feel right now and that somewhere else someone else has the flu.
she called this morning at eight am. she wants to know when i'm coming home. never, is what i want to say but late monday night is what i really say. are you feeling any better she wants to know? i was feeling better then i ate something and now i feel lousy again. drink lots of fluids she says. i am i say. oh, i think i'm going to be sick again, i lie, just to get off the phone. ok, feel better she says quickly as i hang up. i really want to finish reading this last chapter.
...what the? i know it just appeared. can you do anything about it? no, i've tried several things. i tried scraping it off but then it bunched itself up and almost seemed to curl in on itself. god, that is freaky-what do you think it is? i'm not sure but it reminds me of this thing my father brought back from germany when i was a kid. i don't think that one was alive though. what did he tell you about it? nothing really. actually, he never wanted to talk about it. look, i think its starting to open.
fourteen hours and nineteen minutes. that is exactly how long i've been waiting. do you know how badly i want this? sure, i've talked around this, hinting at how much it means to me but not saying out loud what i really feel. even to you, i can't say it. i just want you to know and to understand. i saw the number change and its that much closer. i hope it all works out and you and evangeline will be happy. if you weren't happy i don't know what i'd do but i'd still want this. is that so wrong?
back today. last night i threw a hissy fit like a little baby. i felt bad and was pissed off. super pissed off. at who, i don't know. myself maybe but i really wanted to blame it on everyone else. i went to my room and turned up my music really loud like i was fifteen and given a curfew a half hour earlier than all my friends. i'm just going to have to make the best of it. there's nothing i can do about it now and anyhow its not like the economy is going to change anytime soon.
the cat moved through the underbrush almost without a sound. this was the magic hour between light and dark and her favorite for hunting. she loved the chase when every cell in her body quivered with greed. she was well fed of course, it wasn't like she needed to kill but she just couldn't help herself. and they seemed content to let her have her savage ways. they even found it cute when they found her disemboweled headless spoils on the kitchen floor in the morning. as if it was just for them! oh, look what minerva has brought us!
milo! i told you not to touch that. you never listen to me! when we get back to the car you are really going to get in trouble. i can't take you anywhere. i've told you no. god, i can't believe that you don't listen! i hate taking you places! hold my hand! i said hold my hand! get over here right now! you are making a scene. if you don't get over here right now... quit crying! i said quit! here, you want this sponge bob candy? will you quit crying and let mama get her shopping done? fine.
sometimes, i want to call him and just say hi. we haven't seen each other in ages, i was just wondering how things were going. are you still seeing that girl, umm what is her name, april? right. oh, that's too bad. yeah, we broke up too. i was sad but i know it wasn't the right one for me. i'm not sure i want anyone, really. how about you? really? i'd love to get together and talk. about stuff. but not that ok? because when i think about that my heart breaks over and over. but i miss you.
legions of bees, flying through the afternoon sky. busy. on a mission. i see this through my hazy eyes of half sleep and strands of long grass on a early summer day. i'm lying on the floor of this meadow and i fell asleep like that guy, the one in the fairy tale where he wakes up and all this time has passed. i'm not sure how long i slept but i'm rested and spent all at once. its the sleep of a fugitive. i had to get out of there before i was obliterated. i need to re-group and strategize. think.
when i die, i want my spirit to fly free to this place. if its a sunny day the grass will light up like gold against the deep blue of the sea and i will soar, catching a draft of air, coming to skim the water and rest on the warm sand. will i be a dream for one month as some say, or will i simply dissipate into the everything until i reassemble as something new. will all this take place with a breath? i rise on the draft and hover, trill, pause and plunge. do you see me?
spaces too cramped by memory and innuendo. jabs and digs subtle of delivery, imperceptible to the outsider. uncomfortable silences in the name of holding things together. there was no clawing my way out of a womb to begin with but all these years later i am starting to kick. each kick comes with "i'm sorry" but then the next kick comes even harder. factoid: the last bone to develop in the fetus is the hyoid which gives voice. when you have voice, you are ready to be born. i think the time has come. i am ready to be born.
when all is sad and grey and the world no longer holds meaning for you, look to the east and see all the happy people shiny and bright. if you look out your seventh story window, you will see me walking the cow to the mailbox down our long winding driveway and in that you can find comfort. remember the night when the moon was full and the coyotes were howling and you took my hand and showed me the star in the east? can you recall the possibility? when i forget this will you remind me? again and again.
hey, chica is that your cat? that is one lucky cat! anyone who has that cat has good luck. don't let him get away. that cat has magic. i think i saw him over there under the blazer. no, there he goes. what's his name chica? you better think of a good one. that cat will bring you good luck. anyone he comes across will get some of that luck. you got him? you got him? man, that was close he wanted to get out of here! you got food? you got a litter box? that's good, cause he's lucky.
debbie used to be a high school football coach in indiana, she was married to a lovely woman and they had three boys. she had a penchant for wearing women's clothing that her wife found disgusting. she told debbie (then dean) if she ever wore women's clothing again she would divorce her. one day debbie was at the drugstore and saw a leggs display next to the register. she couldn't help herself and grabbed just one box. her wife was behind her in line. debbie never saw it coming. dean moved to portland, became debbie, and is now a buddhist.
a city of lost potential, this is where i call home. oh city of destiny why have you forsaken them? missed opportunity, forgotten ambition, and embittered lives are what surrounds me. good people, kind people who in any other place would be much more, but collectively they are less. this makes me sad. i love these people and am forever seeing who they would be if they were simply somewhere else. this makes me want to flee this town where every hopeful moment is drowned in the bottom of a glass and possibility is another time, another place, another life.
oh lordy, virginia! i know you have forgotten once again the promise we have made. this was to remain our bonded secret until the end of our days. i fear you have broken this sacred pact and stirred up the wrath of the unworldly energies that were to remain unnamed by our human lips. why oh why have you abandoned me, your dear sister to this gruesome fate? i am doomed to live out my remaining days alone in our ancestral home-this cursed place while you live as a free woman. run little sister as fast as you can.
love bug! sweet little cockroach, burrowing away in the light of day, only to have to come out at night to retrieve your sustenance. so unappreciated, so misunderstood, you fine creature. they never give you the respect you are due and drive you out with their poisons and vehemence. what sorry fools to not see your gifts! your hardened shell which they take relish in crushing and then have the gall to squirm at the sound. monsters! hypocrites! it is you, precious love bug, who will out live them all, crawling out from their self-inflicted ruins to take back the night.
these aches and pains haven't killed me yet. in fact, they've made me stronger. that's right. i may not be able to walk fully upright but i'm stronger at eighty-seven then at thirty-five. of course, it helps that i'm off the sauce whether it was by my choice or god's but life is sneaky that way. my first wife tried to drive the devil out of me but all she got in return was the back of my hand and a black eye, god rest her soul. these days, i'm sharp as a tack and strong as an ox.
for the first time in my life, i know the weight of the words: "let freedom ring." an enormous psychic shit cloud has been lifted today and i feel the freedom to dream of a better life for all people. i drink champagne in my pajamas and dance around the living room. later, i burst in to tears when i see my friend. for the rest of the day i am shaky and elated. the moment was great. there is no denying it. maybe tomorrow we will return to the emptiness of our former selves, but i doubt it.
desert nights, margaritas in red plastic keg cups in the hot tub. we are escaping the cold of winter at home. would we have imagined the two of you together with a baby no less thirteen years down the way? in a few days you would leave in the dart for LA and we would head to the grand canyon wanting to be in love with the strings of discontent already weaving their way through our conversations. the temperature on the rim was minus five degrees with a wind chill but on the canyon floor it was a balmy seventy-two.
the prospect of being in switzerland for four weeks is thrilling, with the exception of having to leave my pets behind. this is not merely a stressful necessity for me but a TRAUMATIC EVENT. they will of course be well cared for and may not even miss me but i will miss them and feel utterly lost with out them. unless you are a quickly approaching middle age, single, childless only child whose mother has recently moved in with you, my reaction might seem extreme. hiking the alps, dog-less is absurd and i know the cat would enjoy it too.
head underwater, the sounds outside are gone. isolated inside myself with the splash of my arms cutting through the water, each breath seems to be the most important thing in the universe. i feel each muscle pull and elongate, my skeleton responds by changing its shape. overhead the florescent lights contribute the strange glow of isolation, while the ultramarine from below brings everything into hyper-reality. for one hour i am suspended. its such a solitary action. alone in my mind, with the importance of my breath, the pull of my muscles, the shift of my skeleton, and my heart beat.
there are these precious moments before i head out into the world and deal with all of you. these moments of quiet and no expectation. trying not to monitor the clock because this too is an invasion into my time away. i try not to think of your complaints and pain here but every now and again, you manage to get in. redirect to the taste of the tea in my mouth and the feel of my slippers on my feet, the prospect of four days off ahead of me. i glance at the clock, and its time to go.
oh you! you always say the funniest things. i always laugh when i'm around you. you have the best stories. you are so charming! you are so dynamic!
truthfully, when i see you walk in, i want to hide. you are a bore. i hate listening to your stories that never seem to end. i can't stand the way you look at my chest on those rare occasions you let me speak. your constant need to be the center of attention is pitiful. as i sit here nursing my drink, i have the thought: i can't believe i married you.
let's curl up here next to the fire. just you and me on this cold winter night. how nice it is to have a fire. don't be shy, come snuggle with me here on the rug. don't be afraid, its dead! i shot it dead on a hunting trip to the yukon. skinned it myself and did all the taxidermy on the head too. the eyeballs are glass. give me your little finger and feel. you are squeamish! don't be. feel how sharp the teeth are! come here, i want to wrap my arm around you and just hold you.
today the sun came out and i could see shadows of the people walking by the window. i like to sit at the window and look up at their feet and imagine where they are going, the people that love them, and the little things that make up their day. i pretend that they are my friends and they are coming to take me with them. i imagine that they are surprised when they learn i was here the entire time and they are outraged that i do not live out in the world with them. outside, i become free.
she doesn't speak, she doesn't bitch, and she doesn't think i'm ugly. she doesn't think at all actually. judge me as you will but i like it that way. sure, there are times i wish she would be aggressive and tie me up the way i tie her up. not that it matters. she wouldn't go anywhere if i didn't but its fun to pretend. she's a good listener and i can fuck her anytime i want and she never has a headache. like god, i breathe into her and give her the gift of life, and she is mine.
please meet me at the corner of fourth and front streets. i will wear a dusty rose colored dress with brown shoes. i will hold a flower in my hand so that you know it is me. if you see me and i am not desirable, you may drive on without stopping and i will know that we are not meant to be. do not worry about my feelings, i am willing to expose myself to your disdain. if you stop i will be as grateful as a puppy dog at the pound when you decide to take me home.
we spend our days flying, stopping in auckland, sydney, tokyo. he is the navigator and chooses our routes carefully. i must pay close attention so i can keep up. one minute we are on a stop over in hong kong and the next in the jungles of vietnam, captured by the enemy and he is already planning our escape. i must say the numbers and i make them up as he asks. he always seems satisfied with my answers as he mulls them over carefully. time is inconsequential, space is fluid, i relax into the moment, and off we fly.
i am on my way back, to your house, your home. will you be there when i get there? i am anxious, to see you and to not see you. i washed the car today. i felt your approval as well as your disappointment that i had not done so sooner. where have you been in this last month? have you flown to distant lands, or sailed alone on your boat across the ocean? was aca by your side? did you miss me as i missed you? will i be able to ask you to leave when it is time?
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