It's almost a new year.
Where are you?
What are you doing?
I'm still here.
12.31.2019
12.29.2019
Starting Over
I missed writing to you yesterday. It was after midnight before I made it to bed and I didn't have one single minute of alone time before that. There were people everywhere all day long and then my sister arrived around 3 o'clock and we stayed up late talking and watching a football game? I don't even know who was playing...Clemson? I don't keep up with any of that and couldn't care less but I'm happy to indulge if it's a thing for someone else.
It's already almost 8:30 and I'm the only one up. Are you a late sleeper? I'm not usually. I have to get up early Monday - Friday so I typically sleep until 8 on Saturday and Sunday. I miss the days of my youth when I could stay in bed until 10 on any given day of the week. Mom's aren't allowed those luxuries. Well, maybe when he gets older and doesn't depend on me so much. It's ok, I wouldn't trade any of these years for anything in the world. Once they're gone, I'm never getting them back. The day is coming, sooner rather than later, when 'mama' will turn into 'mom' and he'll never remember how he thought mama could slay all the monsters under his bed and how he felt safe snuggled up next to her in the dark.
A song just now on Pandora:
The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
I wish I was tangled up in you this morning.
It's almost a New Year. I keep thinking of Clara Bow and your silent film actresses and I wonder if you have a fun 20's themed party to attend on New Year's Eve. Will you have anyone to kiss at midnight? Will she be wearing a cloche?
I'd wear a cloche for you on New Year's Eve. Maybe that and nothing else but some seamed stockings with heels and a strand of pearls. Maybe we'd never make it to that New Year's Eve party or, if we did, it would be 5 minutes before midnight with our dress in disarray and my lipstick smeared. You'd guide me into the room with your hand at the small of my back and right before we entered, you'd take your thumb and run it across my smeared lipstick, cleaning it off for me. We'd step into the room, you'd grab two glasses of champagne right before the countdown and when the clock struck 12 you'd pull me to you with a bit of force and lock eyes with me, the rest of the room fading away until it was only us, and then you'd kiss me and breathe into me all the promises of a new year and we wouldn't part until every last verse of Auld Lang Syne had been sung.
We can start over, you know?
You can send me an email and introduce yourself or write me another poem. You can call me at any random time of they day or night. Do you still have my number? In case you needed to know, there are three hundred thirty four ways to say the three hundred twenty seven things I want to say to you just right now. And that's not including the three thousand, one hundred fifty four I thought of just a second ago.
But I won't say them all to you if you call me. I'll just say "hi" and we can go from there.
It's already almost 8:30 and I'm the only one up. Are you a late sleeper? I'm not usually. I have to get up early Monday - Friday so I typically sleep until 8 on Saturday and Sunday. I miss the days of my youth when I could stay in bed until 10 on any given day of the week. Mom's aren't allowed those luxuries. Well, maybe when he gets older and doesn't depend on me so much. It's ok, I wouldn't trade any of these years for anything in the world. Once they're gone, I'm never getting them back. The day is coming, sooner rather than later, when 'mama' will turn into 'mom' and he'll never remember how he thought mama could slay all the monsters under his bed and how he felt safe snuggled up next to her in the dark.
A song just now on Pandora:
The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
I wish I was tangled up in you this morning.
It's almost a New Year. I keep thinking of Clara Bow and your silent film actresses and I wonder if you have a fun 20's themed party to attend on New Year's Eve. Will you have anyone to kiss at midnight? Will she be wearing a cloche?
I'd wear a cloche for you on New Year's Eve. Maybe that and nothing else but some seamed stockings with heels and a strand of pearls. Maybe we'd never make it to that New Year's Eve party or, if we did, it would be 5 minutes before midnight with our dress in disarray and my lipstick smeared. You'd guide me into the room with your hand at the small of my back and right before we entered, you'd take your thumb and run it across my smeared lipstick, cleaning it off for me. We'd step into the room, you'd grab two glasses of champagne right before the countdown and when the clock struck 12 you'd pull me to you with a bit of force and lock eyes with me, the rest of the room fading away until it was only us, and then you'd kiss me and breathe into me all the promises of a new year and we wouldn't part until every last verse of Auld Lang Syne had been sung.
We can start over, you know?
You can send me an email and introduce yourself or write me another poem. You can call me at any random time of they day or night. Do you still have my number? In case you needed to know, there are three hundred thirty four ways to say the three hundred twenty seven things I want to say to you just right now. And that's not including the three thousand, one hundred fifty four I thought of just a second ago.
But I won't say them all to you if you call me. I'll just say "hi" and we can go from there.
12.27.2019
Dusty Mantels and Unmade Beds
I'm like 98.587% sure I'm sick. I'm not calling it yet because I DO NOT WANT TO ADMIT DEFEAT to whatever this thing is that is making my throat feel like sandpaper every time I swallow. Fuck this shit. I'm not acknowledging its existence and maybe it will go away. If I ignore it, it can't bother me right? Right. So carry on, will ya? I'm fine.
I really really really feel like horse shit, though.
UGH.
Most of the company from out of town has arrived now. My sister will be here tomorrow and she's staying with me. That means I'll be running around like a psycho making sure everything is in order and presentable. Not that I don't keep a clean house.....well, what's your standard of clean? We should talk about this. I have a young boy, two fairly large dogs and a cat. There's a lot of living going on around here and it's not always pretty. I do keep the dishes and the clothes washed, though, and I vacuum pretty regularly. I'm not the greatest at dusting or putting things away after I've used them. I have 712 junk drawers and they're all full. I don't alphabetize the cans in my pantry. (I have a sister-in-law who does.) My refrigerator sometimes resembles one you might stumble across at a frat house. Being just the two of us here, there's always leftovers that rarely get eaten. I throw them out eventually but sometimes they get shoved to the back, like they're hiding, and I forget they're in there. What else? I don't have a whole lot of junk everywhere but I do have a dedicated junk room. That's where Max's old toddler bed is that I'm thinking of turning into a dog bed. They have a whole couch to themselves now but it's getting kind of raggedy and I want to replace it. I'm thinking of getting another toddler bed, one for each of them, and painting their names across the headboard. How fucking adorable, I know. Also, I don't make my bed everyday. Horrors! A fucking grown ass adult with an unmade bed. What in the actual fuck. Ok. But listen. Here's the thing. Who the fuck is going into my bedroom? (I mean, clearly, you're not. I'd make it up the first time you saw it, though. After that, I can't make any promises.) Look, it's not like my bed is in the middle of the living room when a guest walks in. It's upstairs and down a hall. No one is seeing that shit. I'm not giving people tours of my home for fuck's sake. I do regularly wash the sheets, so don't worry. I really like things that smell good. I'm all about scents. I love linen sprays and room sprays and candles and all that predictable girlie shit. And incense occasionally. Depends on my mood.
Don't worry, it's really not so awful around here. I just have other things to think about other than the dust on my mantel on any given day. I bet there won't be a speck of dust to be found anywhere tomorrow, though. Watch.
Anyway, I have to go socialize now. Actually, they all went out to eat but will be back soon. I didn't feel like going. I really am sick. Blah. Come tuck me into my unmade bed and read me a story. But not one of your sexy ones, dammit. I am in no condition to jump your bones at the moment.
P.S. Is it mantel or mantle? It's mantel, right??
I really really really feel like horse shit, though.
UGH.
Most of the company from out of town has arrived now. My sister will be here tomorrow and she's staying with me. That means I'll be running around like a psycho making sure everything is in order and presentable. Not that I don't keep a clean house.....well, what's your standard of clean? We should talk about this. I have a young boy, two fairly large dogs and a cat. There's a lot of living going on around here and it's not always pretty. I do keep the dishes and the clothes washed, though, and I vacuum pretty regularly. I'm not the greatest at dusting or putting things away after I've used them. I have 712 junk drawers and they're all full. I don't alphabetize the cans in my pantry. (I have a sister-in-law who does.) My refrigerator sometimes resembles one you might stumble across at a frat house. Being just the two of us here, there's always leftovers that rarely get eaten. I throw them out eventually but sometimes they get shoved to the back, like they're hiding, and I forget they're in there. What else? I don't have a whole lot of junk everywhere but I do have a dedicated junk room. That's where Max's old toddler bed is that I'm thinking of turning into a dog bed. They have a whole couch to themselves now but it's getting kind of raggedy and I want to replace it. I'm thinking of getting another toddler bed, one for each of them, and painting their names across the headboard. How fucking adorable, I know. Also, I don't make my bed everyday. Horrors! A fucking grown ass adult with an unmade bed. What in the actual fuck. Ok. But listen. Here's the thing. Who the fuck is going into my bedroom? (I mean, clearly, you're not. I'd make it up the first time you saw it, though. After that, I can't make any promises.) Look, it's not like my bed is in the middle of the living room when a guest walks in. It's upstairs and down a hall. No one is seeing that shit. I'm not giving people tours of my home for fuck's sake. I do regularly wash the sheets, so don't worry. I really like things that smell good. I'm all about scents. I love linen sprays and room sprays and candles and all that predictable girlie shit. And incense occasionally. Depends on my mood.
Don't worry, it's really not so awful around here. I just have other things to think about other than the dust on my mantel on any given day. I bet there won't be a speck of dust to be found anywhere tomorrow, though. Watch.
Anyway, I have to go socialize now. Actually, they all went out to eat but will be back soon. I didn't feel like going. I really am sick. Blah. Come tuck me into my unmade bed and read me a story. But not one of your sexy ones, dammit. I am in no condition to jump your bones at the moment.
P.S. Is it mantel or mantle? It's mantel, right??
12.26.2019
Kintsukuroi
I wonder if it's total cringe that I write these words to a you that no longer exists to me. I speak to you as if you are my lover; as if you're out there somewhere reading them and taking some kind of comfort in them. As if you're sitting around waiting on me to talk to you. Sometimes I think I should write all this in a private journal and not out in the open to you. I know you're not reading this now but if you ever happen to come here again... I'm afraid this will scare the shit out of you. Or at the very least, make you cringe and breathe a sigh of relief at the bullet you dodged. I mean, ol' girl over here has lost every last one of her marbles, amiright?
I hope you don't mind that I call you 'baby' sometimes.
You'd totally be my baby by now if you hadn't gone away. Don't worry, I'll hold the position for you. There's no one here who can even come close to filling it anyway. Hit me up when you get back in town, ok?
Just walk right in through the front door.
You don't even have to knock
Sit down...wait
Kiss me first
Soft then hard then crazed
Yeah, that's better
Now, go sit down
Dinner will be ready soon
I missed you
Want to hear about my day? It was long and I was tired. I was mean to an employee but I apologized to her right after. Does that count? I wasn't super mean but I was very short and used my "hard" voice with her. What a bitch. I'm sure she texted her bestie and called me one. It's ok. I deserved it. Later, I cried for no good reason other than I'm tired and I'm depressed and I'm ready for Christmas to be over but there are more people trickling into town tonight and through the weekend. I really love these people that are coming but I'm just kind of over it all. Truthfully, I'm sick of all the holiday food and smells. I don't want to even make eye contact with another cheese ball and if I have to inhale anything else cinnamon or evergreen or sugar cookie, I'm going to vomit. Bring me some coastal salty air for my plug-ins. I'm done with the holiday scents now.
What else happened today? I attempted to take a nap but my phone rang, then the little boy down the block came by to play with Max, my dogs started barking at a leaf blowing around on the back porch, and Skittles jumped on my chest and stared at me for a while. I finally got up. I spent some time looking at my treadmill and thinking about sweating away my blues. It usually works and keeps them away for a while. She was calling to me pretty hard but my throat is feeling a bit scratchy and sore so I ignored her. God, I hope I'm not getting sick. It's 5 o'clock now and I'm going to cook salmon for dinner. What should we have with it? I might make a stir fry. Or maybe just a salad? I haven't decided yet.
What a super fun day. I know you really hate you're missing out on all this. I already told you I was basic and boring so I can't be held responsible for the way you feel about me. It defies explanation. Let's not think too much about it. Let's just accept it and move on.
Kintsukuroi:
"the art of mending broken objects with gold. It embraces breakage as part of an object’s history and makes it more beautiful in its imperfection. These pieces become stronger, more beautiful, and more valuable for having been broken"
https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/326qTYw26156P9k92v8zr3C/broken-a-pot-copy-the-japanese-and-fix-it-with-gold
You were radiant to me.
You still are.
I have so many broken pieces. Do you want to see them all?
I'll show you every single one.
Let me see yours too.
I hope you don't mind that I call you 'baby' sometimes.
You'd totally be my baby by now if you hadn't gone away. Don't worry, I'll hold the position for you. There's no one here who can even come close to filling it anyway. Hit me up when you get back in town, ok?
Just walk right in through the front door.
You don't even have to knock
Sit down...wait
Kiss me first
Soft then hard then crazed
Yeah, that's better
Now, go sit down
Dinner will be ready soon
I missed you
Want to hear about my day? It was long and I was tired. I was mean to an employee but I apologized to her right after. Does that count? I wasn't super mean but I was very short and used my "hard" voice with her. What a bitch. I'm sure she texted her bestie and called me one. It's ok. I deserved it. Later, I cried for no good reason other than I'm tired and I'm depressed and I'm ready for Christmas to be over but there are more people trickling into town tonight and through the weekend. I really love these people that are coming but I'm just kind of over it all. Truthfully, I'm sick of all the holiday food and smells. I don't want to even make eye contact with another cheese ball and if I have to inhale anything else cinnamon or evergreen or sugar cookie, I'm going to vomit. Bring me some coastal salty air for my plug-ins. I'm done with the holiday scents now.
What else happened today? I attempted to take a nap but my phone rang, then the little boy down the block came by to play with Max, my dogs started barking at a leaf blowing around on the back porch, and Skittles jumped on my chest and stared at me for a while. I finally got up. I spent some time looking at my treadmill and thinking about sweating away my blues. It usually works and keeps them away for a while. She was calling to me pretty hard but my throat is feeling a bit scratchy and sore so I ignored her. God, I hope I'm not getting sick. It's 5 o'clock now and I'm going to cook salmon for dinner. What should we have with it? I might make a stir fry. Or maybe just a salad? I haven't decided yet.
What a super fun day. I know you really hate you're missing out on all this. I already told you I was basic and boring so I can't be held responsible for the way you feel about me. It defies explanation. Let's not think too much about it. Let's just accept it and move on.
Kintsukuroi:
"the art of mending broken objects with gold. It embraces breakage as part of an object’s history and makes it more beautiful in its imperfection. These pieces become stronger, more beautiful, and more valuable for having been broken"
https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/326qTYw26156P9k92v8zr3C/broken-a-pot-copy-the-japanese-and-fix-it-with-gold
You were radiant to me.
You still are.
I have so many broken pieces. Do you want to see them all?
I'll show you every single one.
Let me see yours too.
12.24.2019
Christmas Eve
It's quiet now. Everyone has gone home. It's late. Max is upstairs sleeping. Waiting on Santa. I've put all the gifts under the tree, filled the milk half full in Santa's mug, chomped the end off the carrot, left the crumbs from the cookies, filled his stocking. We're ready. I can't wait to see him in the morning. There won't be many more of these left. Maybe one. Maybe two. This blind faith. This innocence. It's so fleeting. You have no idea how fleeting it is. I never did either until I became his mom. I think of him sleeping up there in my king size bed and I think of all the sleeps he'll hopefully have from here on after and I wish every single one of them could be a Christmas Eve sleep when he was 8 years old and he knew Santa was coming. I wish all the world could have that kind of sleep forever. The pure exhaustion from a day of anticipation. He didn't think he'd ever be able to fall asleep but he was passed out by 8:30 on the couch. I carried his limp body up the stairs and tucked him in under my covers and whispered "Santa is coming."
I'm exhausted and my house smells like a Hallmark Christmas movie if you can imagine what that might smell like. It's disgusting and comforting and home all at once. I don't know what that means or how that makes sense but somehow it does. I've cooked all the food I can cook and tomorrow I will take it over to my dad's house and we will all laugh and talk like the past never happened. And maybe it didn't, you know? Maybe life is just a series of individual events and not some ongoing monologue you can't escape. I like the idea of that. It's not true, of course, but for this one day, let me believe it just as surely as that sweet boy upstairs asleep in my bed believes that Santa Claus is coming tonight.
Goodnight, wherever you are. I hope you're already asleep and dreaming of some epic Christmas Eve when you were a kid.
I'm exhausted and my house smells like a Hallmark Christmas movie if you can imagine what that might smell like. It's disgusting and comforting and home all at once. I don't know what that means or how that makes sense but somehow it does. I've cooked all the food I can cook and tomorrow I will take it over to my dad's house and we will all laugh and talk like the past never happened. And maybe it didn't, you know? Maybe life is just a series of individual events and not some ongoing monologue you can't escape. I like the idea of that. It's not true, of course, but for this one day, let me believe it just as surely as that sweet boy upstairs asleep in my bed believes that Santa Claus is coming tonight.
12.23.2019
Holiday Cheese Balls and Whatnot
I just lost my damn mind at the grocery store. To the tune of two hundred and some odd dollars. What?! What is wrong with me? I went through all my holiday recipes this morning and decided I was going to make ALL OF THEM! Dumbass. It's too late to back out. I'm committed now. I hardly have time to type these words to you. There are cheeseballs to put together, Christmas chex mix to bake, casseroles, snowmen shaped fudge, chocolate covered pretzels, roasted pecans. Oh my god.... Not to mention the cheese chowder I make every year for Christmas Eve.
I need an intervention.
If you need me anytime before Christmas, I'll be in the kitchen. I'm just gonna sleep on the floor. There's no time to waste.
So listen, this is a sad but cool story. There's this guy I follow on facebook (don't worry, I don't actually post or do anything on facebook - I just troll around). I'm not exactly sure how I stumbled across him but somehow I did and he's interesting as all fuck. He lives over in Mississippi and used to write for some magazine or newspaper or both, I'm not sure. Turns out, he and his lady are driving to San Francisco at the end of this month to attend the Dead & Company show on December 30 and 31. Here's a link to the story.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/cap-can039t-go-ginger-can?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&fbclid=IwAR3XDSCVmeXG1cx2HssSPc3FLaqcvSMNny0odFr_ztYQG_PFMU9QkyVn3ZU
I need an intervention.
If you need me anytime before Christmas, I'll be in the kitchen. I'm just gonna sleep on the floor. There's no time to waste.
So listen, this is a sad but cool story. There's this guy I follow on facebook (don't worry, I don't actually post or do anything on facebook - I just troll around). I'm not exactly sure how I stumbled across him but somehow I did and he's interesting as all fuck. He lives over in Mississippi and used to write for some magazine or newspaper or both, I'm not sure. Turns out, he and his lady are driving to San Francisco at the end of this month to attend the Dead & Company show on December 30 and 31. Here's a link to the story.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/cap-can039t-go-ginger-can?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&fbclid=IwAR3XDSCVmeXG1cx2HssSPc3FLaqcvSMNny0odFr_ztYQG_PFMU9QkyVn3ZU
How badass is that? I'm super jealous. I want to travel across the country in a cargo van and sleep in the back (as long as there's an air mattress) and sell my pimento cheese sandwiches and copies of your book. (wait...what?) We can go back to real life eventually but, god, that would be a fun detour.
Obviously, I donated to the cause. I'm a sucker for wanderers and lost souls and under dogs and anything and everything that is both gentle and honest. And also lewd and sarcastic. Basically, anything real.
Anyway, maybe I'll go over to Mississippi and hide in their cargo van before they leave.
Come look for me in the parking lot of the Chase Center, ok?
P.S. I'd stay longer but there are mounds of groceries waiting on me to turn them into something and this mixture of cheese and whatnot is not going to roll itself. Also, Max has a migraine. Also, there might be some champagne and a tabletop tennis set included in that two hundred and odd dollar purchase. I'm not sure.
P.S. I'd stay longer but there are mounds of groceries waiting on me to turn them into something and this mixture of cheese and whatnot is not going to roll itself. Also, Max has a migraine. Also, there might be some champagne and a tabletop tennis set included in that two hundred and odd dollar purchase. I'm not sure.
12.21.2019
Soap Box Sugar Cookies
It's official. I need to disengage from the world for a while. I
need to hide out in a cabin in the woods for the better part of
forever. Or a cabin in the mountains. Or a beach shack somewhere. Why
not all three? I'll just rotate around the different seasons. Somehow
they'll all be magically stocked with everything I need and even some
things I don't. Just as long as I can completely disengage from
humanity for a while. That's the main goal here. I'm not trying to
'rough it' or anything. Hell, I couldn't hunt for food if my life
depended on it. I can't even bait a hook with a live worm. Poor worm!
Poor fish! It's all so tragic. I eat meat, of course. I just can't
actively participate in the killing of the meat.
I went Christmas shopping today. Hence the need to disengage. It's so awful. And before you make any remarks about how shopping between Halloween and Thanksgiving would alleviate this need for solitude, I'll have you know I always feel this way when I have to go shopping. I do not enjoy shopping. I like things and I like buying things but I do not like other people who also want to buy things. I do not like the sad, old men sitting on the benches while their ladies have been in the same store for half a century and still can't decide on the red or other-red scarf. I can't stand to see them dejectedly pushing the carts around after their Martha's and Shirley's while both Martha and Shirley have been standing in the middle of aisle 3 for thirty minutes now talking about the church potluck. I want to punch both Martha and Shirley in the face and take ol' Tom and Ed to that little bar up the road, settle them in all nice and comfy at a corner table, order their seltzer water and tell the bartender to turn the game on already. Poor Tom and Ed. Neither one drinks much anymore but they still enjoy the atmosphere of a bar with a ballgame on in the background. At least let them have that while you ladies take up the entire aisle talking about the same shit you always talk about. And for the love of all that is holy, enough with the hairspray and baby powder perfume. I can't even deal.
And double fuck the socialite moms with their oversized sunglasses and Starbucks. Bitch, it's raining. It's actually raining. They're constantly on the phone and have to stop right in front of you to shoot off a text to ...who? The Queen of England, apparently, because it cannot wait one fucking millisecond. You're just going to have to deal with it whoever you are behind me because don't you know I don't give a fuck about you. You are a mere peasant. Didn't you know you were in the presence of royalty? I don't know, ma'am, half your face is hidden under those giant sunglasses and the other half is swollen from the lip plumpers your husband keeps begging you not to get because you can't suck dick for at least a week after the injection and a dick suck is all the poor bastard gets anymore now that you've gained a few pounds around your middle that NO ONE can even see except you. Maybe those fake eyelashes are casting a shadow on your tummy and making it appear to have grown an actual curve?. Go sit down somewhere. You fucking exhaust me
God, the teenagers and the couples in love and the awkward dads and the single moms and the kids and the babies and even me and my own goddamn self who is just as annoying to someone else as they are to me. It drives me as batshit as all the crap stuffed on all the shelves everywhere all over every damn store you walk into. There are literal pathways through all the junk, forcing you to walk single file like you're back in elementary school. There's a million different versions of the same thing everywhere. There are 76 shades of this brown pottery and 184 portraits of this painting with the red dot in a slightly different place. Changes the whole meaning of the piece, don't ya think? NO. I don't. Put the red dot back where it belongs and destroy the other one hundred eighty three imitations.
Awww, fuck. I'm turning into an ornery old lady! I'm gonna be swinging a cane around pretty soon and yelling at all the neighborhood kids from the rocker on my front porch.
Except I won't. I'll just keep it all to myself and then vent to you about it when I get home. I'll get on my soap box and deliver a tirade so full of expletives you'll have no choice but to grab me off that soap box, haul me into the bedroom, throw me on the bed and proceed to pound all the bah humbug right back out of my bones.
Then we'll decorate sugar cookies and lick icing off each other.
Like these. Maybe your name will be on one next year.
I went Christmas shopping today. Hence the need to disengage. It's so awful. And before you make any remarks about how shopping between Halloween and Thanksgiving would alleviate this need for solitude, I'll have you know I always feel this way when I have to go shopping. I do not enjoy shopping. I like things and I like buying things but I do not like other people who also want to buy things. I do not like the sad, old men sitting on the benches while their ladies have been in the same store for half a century and still can't decide on the red or other-red scarf. I can't stand to see them dejectedly pushing the carts around after their Martha's and Shirley's while both Martha and Shirley have been standing in the middle of aisle 3 for thirty minutes now talking about the church potluck. I want to punch both Martha and Shirley in the face and take ol' Tom and Ed to that little bar up the road, settle them in all nice and comfy at a corner table, order their seltzer water and tell the bartender to turn the game on already. Poor Tom and Ed. Neither one drinks much anymore but they still enjoy the atmosphere of a bar with a ballgame on in the background. At least let them have that while you ladies take up the entire aisle talking about the same shit you always talk about. And for the love of all that is holy, enough with the hairspray and baby powder perfume. I can't even deal.
And double fuck the socialite moms with their oversized sunglasses and Starbucks. Bitch, it's raining. It's actually raining. They're constantly on the phone and have to stop right in front of you to shoot off a text to ...who? The Queen of England, apparently, because it cannot wait one fucking millisecond. You're just going to have to deal with it whoever you are behind me because don't you know I don't give a fuck about you. You are a mere peasant. Didn't you know you were in the presence of royalty? I don't know, ma'am, half your face is hidden under those giant sunglasses and the other half is swollen from the lip plumpers your husband keeps begging you not to get because you can't suck dick for at least a week after the injection and a dick suck is all the poor bastard gets anymore now that you've gained a few pounds around your middle that NO ONE can even see except you. Maybe those fake eyelashes are casting a shadow on your tummy and making it appear to have grown an actual curve?. Go sit down somewhere. You fucking exhaust me
God, the teenagers and the couples in love and the awkward dads and the single moms and the kids and the babies and even me and my own goddamn self who is just as annoying to someone else as they are to me. It drives me as batshit as all the crap stuffed on all the shelves everywhere all over every damn store you walk into. There are literal pathways through all the junk, forcing you to walk single file like you're back in elementary school. There's a million different versions of the same thing everywhere. There are 76 shades of this brown pottery and 184 portraits of this painting with the red dot in a slightly different place. Changes the whole meaning of the piece, don't ya think? NO. I don't. Put the red dot back where it belongs and destroy the other one hundred eighty three imitations.
Awww, fuck. I'm turning into an ornery old lady! I'm gonna be swinging a cane around pretty soon and yelling at all the neighborhood kids from the rocker on my front porch.
Except I won't. I'll just keep it all to myself and then vent to you about it when I get home. I'll get on my soap box and deliver a tirade so full of expletives you'll have no choice but to grab me off that soap box, haul me into the bedroom, throw me on the bed and proceed to pound all the bah humbug right back out of my bones.
Then we'll decorate sugar cookies and lick icing off each other.
Like these. Maybe your name will be on one next year.
12.20.2019
Every Single Second
This new coffee maker I got doesn't make any noise whatsoever when it brews. I'm kinda pissed about that. The son of a bitch isn't even red, either. The only red one they had
was $30. This one only cost me $20.
Wait a minute. I lied.
I just walked in the kitchen to get something and it's over there making these faint gurgling sounds all under its breath like it's embarrassed or something. Like "sorry, I have to do this, hope you don't mind." Bitch, let me hear you! My old coffee maker made so much damn noise. Like an old man working all the kinks out when he stood up. I guess maybe that's why it died on me. It was old as fuck. Well, this new one needs to go on and live a little because I like a coffee maker that talks to me while it's working its magic.
I don't know why I'm making coffee at 1:30 on a Friday afternoon except that when my other one died, it suddenly became urgent that I replace it ASAP. The thought that I couldn't brew coffee even if I wanted to suddenly made me want coffee at all times of the day. It's 5 p.m. on a Wednesday, need coffee. It's 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep, must make coffee. Brains are a total mind-fuck, aren't they?
How do you take your coffee? Do you even like coffee or is tea more your thing? I like both but I drink two cups of coffee every morning. I drink the first cup black and the second cup with powdered creamer. I don't use any sugar or artificial sweetener. If I have coffee in the afternoon I'm inclined to use powdered creamer. Obviously, I'd love to use heavy cream in my coffee but that's just too much decadence for everyday life. I save the heavy cream for places like Waffle House or the continental breakfast at a hotel. One simply cannot live luxuriously every single day. What ever would become of us if we did? We'd be way too bougie. I like peppermint tea sometimes in the evening. I once read this book where the main character was always drinking peppermint tea. Like every other page (I don't even remember the name of the book now). I'd never had peppermint tea before but halfway through that book, I made a special trip to the grocery to pick some up. I've been drinking it ever since. Sometimes I put milk and honey in it if I'm feeling special.
Max's guitar came today! Oh my god. I'm so excited. I want to take it out and play with it. I bought him an amp and a stand for it plus the picks. What else does he need? His best friend, Dez, is getting a drum set for Christmas. They're totally going to jam together. Obviously, they'll be rock stars any day now.
I plan to finish my Christmas shopping tomorrow, you'll be happy to know. I only have every single person left to buy for so I should be able to knock it out in an afternoon. Max is mostly done, though, so that's really all that matters. I'd buy a gift for you if you were still around. Maybe I'll buy myself one instead. What should I get? I really need a new flat iron for my hair. I banged mine on the counter the other morning because it was in my hand and it just sorta accidentally happened to slam down. It may or may not have a crack in it now. I'm not sure. But whatever. Listen. I'm not a violent person. I was just very frustrated because my hair would not lay flat no matter how many times I passed the iron over it. Fucking bitch ass hair.
I've had two cups of coffee while I've been writing this whole junk of nothing to you. I guess I'm feeling a little better today. I've made it to the top of this hole but I still haven't climbed out. I'm kind of just hanging here on the edge, like a swimming pool. It could go either way really. I might get out and sit on the side or I might hold my nose and go back under. Too early to tell.
I really just stopped by here to tell you that no matter how many days keep piling up between us,
I still think of you every single second of every single one.
Wait a minute. I lied.
I just walked in the kitchen to get something and it's over there making these faint gurgling sounds all under its breath like it's embarrassed or something. Like "sorry, I have to do this, hope you don't mind." Bitch, let me hear you! My old coffee maker made so much damn noise. Like an old man working all the kinks out when he stood up. I guess maybe that's why it died on me. It was old as fuck. Well, this new one needs to go on and live a little because I like a coffee maker that talks to me while it's working its magic.
I don't know why I'm making coffee at 1:30 on a Friday afternoon except that when my other one died, it suddenly became urgent that I replace it ASAP. The thought that I couldn't brew coffee even if I wanted to suddenly made me want coffee at all times of the day. It's 5 p.m. on a Wednesday, need coffee. It's 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep, must make coffee. Brains are a total mind-fuck, aren't they?
How do you take your coffee? Do you even like coffee or is tea more your thing? I like both but I drink two cups of coffee every morning. I drink the first cup black and the second cup with powdered creamer. I don't use any sugar or artificial sweetener. If I have coffee in the afternoon I'm inclined to use powdered creamer. Obviously, I'd love to use heavy cream in my coffee but that's just too much decadence for everyday life. I save the heavy cream for places like Waffle House or the continental breakfast at a hotel. One simply cannot live luxuriously every single day. What ever would become of us if we did? We'd be way too bougie. I like peppermint tea sometimes in the evening. I once read this book where the main character was always drinking peppermint tea. Like every other page (I don't even remember the name of the book now). I'd never had peppermint tea before but halfway through that book, I made a special trip to the grocery to pick some up. I've been drinking it ever since. Sometimes I put milk and honey in it if I'm feeling special.
Max's guitar came today! Oh my god. I'm so excited. I want to take it out and play with it. I bought him an amp and a stand for it plus the picks. What else does he need? His best friend, Dez, is getting a drum set for Christmas. They're totally going to jam together. Obviously, they'll be rock stars any day now.
I plan to finish my Christmas shopping tomorrow, you'll be happy to know. I only have every single person left to buy for so I should be able to knock it out in an afternoon. Max is mostly done, though, so that's really all that matters. I'd buy a gift for you if you were still around. Maybe I'll buy myself one instead. What should I get? I really need a new flat iron for my hair. I banged mine on the counter the other morning because it was in my hand and it just sorta accidentally happened to slam down. It may or may not have a crack in it now. I'm not sure. But whatever. Listen. I'm not a violent person. I was just very frustrated because my hair would not lay flat no matter how many times I passed the iron over it. Fucking bitch ass hair.
I've had two cups of coffee while I've been writing this whole junk of nothing to you. I guess I'm feeling a little better today. I've made it to the top of this hole but I still haven't climbed out. I'm kind of just hanging here on the edge, like a swimming pool. It could go either way really. I might get out and sit on the side or I might hold my nose and go back under. Too early to tell.
I really just stopped by here to tell you that no matter how many days keep piling up between us,
I still think of you every single second of every single one.
12.19.2019
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.
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.
12.18.2019
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
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
12.17.2019
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.
12.16.2019
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.
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.
12.15.2019
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.
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.
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.
12.14.2019
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.
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.
12.13.2019
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.
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.
12.12.2019
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.
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.
New Job
This is my job now. Writing these words to you and sending them out into the void in the hopes you'll stumble across them again someday.
The pay is complete crap, the hours are continual and there are no benefits. But I'm dedicated and loyal as all fuck so I'm giving it my all.
I hope it will be enough.
I'm working on a promotion. I didn't receive a notice about it or anything but I think there's a chance I might be able hear you again if I keep toiling away over this keyboard.
So, I'll just keep sweating it out over here. Over here. Across the way. You should know there's someone on the other side of the map who still thinks you're a total babe.
Max wants an electric guitar for Christmas. How fun is that? I'm getting an acoustic one and we're going to take lessons together. Pretty soon, I'll be writing songs and singing to you. I'll make a YouTube channel and post the vids for you. You should really come back before that happens. Let me keep one tiny piece of my dignity, at least? Nah. You can have it all. I guess if I have to lose every ounce of my dignity pining away for you until you feel better, so be it. I'll throw it out the window of my car on my way to you; pour it down the sink and break the bottle it came in; bury it six feet under in a top secret location.
Told you I had a flair for the dramatic. Don't pay me any attention.
What's the first song I should learn to play? I really like this one:
P.S. In case it needs to be mentioned, you're totally worth losing my dignity over and toiling away at this keyboard. I'm gonna do it forever until I die if I have to. At some point, I'll probably get a tramp stamp with your name on it.
The pay is complete crap, the hours are continual and there are no benefits. But I'm dedicated and loyal as all fuck so I'm giving it my all.
I hope it will be enough.
I'm working on a promotion. I didn't receive a notice about it or anything but I think there's a chance I might be able hear you again if I keep toiling away over this keyboard.
So, I'll just keep sweating it out over here. Over here. Across the way. You should know there's someone on the other side of the map who still thinks you're a total babe.
Max wants an electric guitar for Christmas. How fun is that? I'm getting an acoustic one and we're going to take lessons together. Pretty soon, I'll be writing songs and singing to you. I'll make a YouTube channel and post the vids for you. You should really come back before that happens. Let me keep one tiny piece of my dignity, at least? Nah. You can have it all. I guess if I have to lose every ounce of my dignity pining away for you until you feel better, so be it. I'll throw it out the window of my car on my way to you; pour it down the sink and break the bottle it came in; bury it six feet under in a top secret location.
Told you I had a flair for the dramatic. Don't pay me any attention.
What's the first song I should learn to play? I really like this one:
P.S. In case it needs to be mentioned, you're totally worth losing my dignity over and toiling away at this keyboard. I'm gonna do it forever until I die if I have to. At some point, I'll probably get a tramp stamp with your name on it.
12.11.2019
The Cursive G
The Cursive G.
The one for the tattoo.
Remember?
Of course you remember.
Which one is your fave? I'm thinking 4th row, 4th one in from either side. I don't think we ever decided on the perfect spot to have it etched on my body. These are things we need to discuss.
Honestly, the paper broke me in a real way when I pulled it out. What I wouldn't give to be able to share this joke with you again.
What I wouldn't give just to be able to reach you. We don't even have to talk about anything that's happened. You never have to say a word about it and I'll never bring it up. Use me as a diversion; a distraction. Use me any way you need to. I just wish you'd use me like that Bill Withers song and I wish you'd keep on 'til you used me up. There's not much of me left anyway. What little bit there is, I want you to have. I was supposed to be your shackjob, after all.
I've been going to that music channel where we first met in the hopes you'll show up there. There's this person that talks to me sometimes and I wonder if it's you? He (or she?) played some folk music last night; Neil Young, Joni Mitchell. I found you in all the songs. I half convinced myself it was you trying to send me a message.
Was it you?
An Apology of Sorts
I should be ashamed to post these pathetic attempts at poetry. I'm not actually trying to write poetry and I don't know why I arrange the words on the paper in a way that looks like poetry when it so clearly is just prose.
I think I should take it all down. But I won't. Writing to you, in whatever shitty way I can, is cathartic for me. And maybe will serve as proof of my unwavering devotion to you. Or maybe just as proof of my descent into madness,
I am surely going mad.
I've been reading Bukowski again and now I feel like a complete and utter failure. So basic. I should just go read some 'chick lit' and be done with it. Do they still call it that? That's what we called it back in my day. Turns out, these 'not poems' of mine probably wouldn't even make it as 'chick lit.'
But I'm not actually trying to write poetry, you see. I'm really not. I don't know why I'm arranging the lines in clips. I really don't. Maybe I feel like I'm living in clip right now.
Living in Clip is the name of an Ani DiFranco album that gave me life in my 20's. Fuck, that album was so badass.
I don't know what the point of this is. I'm feeling super ashamed of myself for writing all this mediocre crap to you when you are so much more than mediocre and you don't deserve these dime store words. You need whole city blocks of designer words. But I don't have them because I'm really just a discount rack at a dime store. I tried to dust myself off for you when you came around. I decorated my shelves with all the seasonal candles from all the seasons past and I was hoping you wouldn't notice they were out of date; that maybe the scent of them would override their dented and chipped bodies.
I am dented and chipped and my words only scratch the surface of my heart and I'm scared of the water out there in the middle of the ocean so I just stay right here on this shore, searching for you. I should jump in and start swimming already but I'm afraid I'll get lost and when you come back, I'll be out in the middle of the ocean and you'll think I've left.
Oh, what the fuck am I saying? I don't even know.
Here's Bukowski:
Layover
Charles Bukowski
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it’s only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.
I think I should take it all down. But I won't. Writing to you, in whatever shitty way I can, is cathartic for me. And maybe will serve as proof of my unwavering devotion to you. Or maybe just as proof of my descent into madness,
I am surely going mad.
I've been reading Bukowski again and now I feel like a complete and utter failure. So basic. I should just go read some 'chick lit' and be done with it. Do they still call it that? That's what we called it back in my day. Turns out, these 'not poems' of mine probably wouldn't even make it as 'chick lit.'
But I'm not actually trying to write poetry, you see. I'm really not. I don't know why I'm arranging the lines in clips. I really don't. Maybe I feel like I'm living in clip right now.
Living in Clip is the name of an Ani DiFranco album that gave me life in my 20's. Fuck, that album was so badass.
I don't know what the point of this is. I'm feeling super ashamed of myself for writing all this mediocre crap to you when you are so much more than mediocre and you don't deserve these dime store words. You need whole city blocks of designer words. But I don't have them because I'm really just a discount rack at a dime store. I tried to dust myself off for you when you came around. I decorated my shelves with all the seasonal candles from all the seasons past and I was hoping you wouldn't notice they were out of date; that maybe the scent of them would override their dented and chipped bodies.
I am dented and chipped and my words only scratch the surface of my heart and I'm scared of the water out there in the middle of the ocean so I just stay right here on this shore, searching for you. I should jump in and start swimming already but I'm afraid I'll get lost and when you come back, I'll be out in the middle of the ocean and you'll think I've left.
Oh, what the fuck am I saying? I don't even know.
Here's Bukowski:
Layover
Charles Bukowski
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it’s only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.
12.10.2019
Baby
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?
Baby,
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'
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?
Baby,
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'
12.09.2019
Basic
It's Monday again.
I really hate Monday and there's no good reason why. I think it's because I'm supposed to.
I've been doing this hiking program on my treadmill. Six weeks around Lake Tahoe. Have you ever been? It's so beautiful. I wish I were actually there instead of looking at it through a screen. I took a break from it today, though, and mapped out a route through Jack London Square. I wonder where that is in relation to you. You know how everybody has the book that got them into reading? Well maybe not everybody, just the ones who like reading. Mine was The Call of the Wild. That book did it for me when I was a kid. It made me want to read anything and everything I could. They're making another movie of it, too. This one has Harrison Ford in it, I think. Comes out in February. I'll probably take Max. I make him go watch all the animal movies. The last one we saw was The Art of Racing in the Rain. I cried big, fat, ugly, sobbing tears right there in the theater. It has Milo Ventimiglia in it who also plays on the only show I watch on television, This Is Us.
See? I'm super fucking basic. Just a boring old spinster, really. Not a goddess, after all. I'd probably bore you to tears after awhile. I mean, not that you shouldn't totally find out, though.
Do you like pickles? You should know I drink all the juice from the pickle jar before the pickles have a chance to get eaten. Just a heads up.
When we first started talking and I knew we'd get along, I dreamed of how we would eventually meet. I had this idea that we would pick some literary landmark to go to and if things went well, we'd vacation together once a year or more until we'd gone to all the literary landmarks in the US. I'm a total cheeseball. I didn't know if we would ever be able to make our worlds collide but I figured we would at least be really good friends who could fly to each other from time to time. Of course, we'd totally bang the shit out of each other, too. I hope you weren't planning to get an S.O. in San Fran 'cause I was totally down with being your FWB forevs.
I've been reading all kinds of stuff to try to understand how you feel right now. You don't ever have to feel weird around me about anything. I kinda have a "thing" for you and when a woman gets a "thing" for a man, there's really not a whole lot you can do about it. That woman is going to love the shit out of you even at your worst. So, I'm sorry but you can come on back now so I can put some salve on those wounds and bandage you up all nice and secure. I've got a spot for you in my bed and I know you're tired.
Be easy on yourself. It really is going to be ok.
P.S. I only drink the juice of the whole or the spears, so you're safe if the hamburger chips are your jam. Oh, and only the dill. None of that bread and butter crap.
Oh and here's a pic of the Xmas Tree. Can you spot the live ornament?
I really hate Monday and there's no good reason why. I think it's because I'm supposed to.
I've been doing this hiking program on my treadmill. Six weeks around Lake Tahoe. Have you ever been? It's so beautiful. I wish I were actually there instead of looking at it through a screen. I took a break from it today, though, and mapped out a route through Jack London Square. I wonder where that is in relation to you. You know how everybody has the book that got them into reading? Well maybe not everybody, just the ones who like reading. Mine was The Call of the Wild. That book did it for me when I was a kid. It made me want to read anything and everything I could. They're making another movie of it, too. This one has Harrison Ford in it, I think. Comes out in February. I'll probably take Max. I make him go watch all the animal movies. The last one we saw was The Art of Racing in the Rain. I cried big, fat, ugly, sobbing tears right there in the theater. It has Milo Ventimiglia in it who also plays on the only show I watch on television, This Is Us.
See? I'm super fucking basic. Just a boring old spinster, really. Not a goddess, after all. I'd probably bore you to tears after awhile. I mean, not that you shouldn't totally find out, though.
Do you like pickles? You should know I drink all the juice from the pickle jar before the pickles have a chance to get eaten. Just a heads up.
When we first started talking and I knew we'd get along, I dreamed of how we would eventually meet. I had this idea that we would pick some literary landmark to go to and if things went well, we'd vacation together once a year or more until we'd gone to all the literary landmarks in the US. I'm a total cheeseball. I didn't know if we would ever be able to make our worlds collide but I figured we would at least be really good friends who could fly to each other from time to time. Of course, we'd totally bang the shit out of each other, too. I hope you weren't planning to get an S.O. in San Fran 'cause I was totally down with being your FWB forevs.
I've been reading all kinds of stuff to try to understand how you feel right now. You don't ever have to feel weird around me about anything. I kinda have a "thing" for you and when a woman gets a "thing" for a man, there's really not a whole lot you can do about it. That woman is going to love the shit out of you even at your worst. So, I'm sorry but you can come on back now so I can put some salve on those wounds and bandage you up all nice and secure. I've got a spot for you in my bed and I know you're tired.
Be easy on yourself. It really is going to be ok.
P.S. I only drink the juice of the whole or the spears, so you're safe if the hamburger chips are your jam. Oh, and only the dill. None of that bread and butter crap.
Oh and here's a pic of the Xmas Tree. Can you spot the live ornament?
12.08.2019
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 who can't reach the milk on the top shelf
'could you get that for me, baby?'
And definitely not your mom when you fell off your skateboard and busted your knee
'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 sucking your bottom lip
in-between her teeth so gently
that 'baby' is a mere breath that floats into your mouth,
'oh baby.'
Has anybody ever called you daddy?
I mean, like a lover.
Not the guy at the record store who greets you when you walk in
'what's up daddio!'
Not the little girl in line at the aquarium who looks up at you
'daddy?'
And definitely not the young girl at that concert;
you were definitely old enough to be her daddy.
I mean, has a lover ever called you daddy?
Have you ever heard the word daddy come out of your woman's mouth
when she's sitting on the edge of your bed wearing those seamed stockings,
your button down shirt,
your scent all over it,
beckoning you with her finger
'come here daddy'
Has anybody ever sat you down after a long hard day
and worked the knots from your shoulders?
Slow danced with you in the kitchen
while a pot of soup simmers on the stove?
Made you cornbread from scratch to go in that pot of soup?
Let you lick the icing from their fingertips?
Baby, when I finish making this cake for you,
I want you to sit down at the head of my kitchen table
while I rub all the dirt off your shoulders,
whispering in your ear 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 belly.
And when you've had your fill of that,
I'm going to release that darkness right back out of your soul
until you explode
over
and over
again.
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 who can't reach the milk on the top shelf
'could you get that for me, baby?'
And definitely not your mom when you fell off your skateboard and busted your knee
'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 sucking your bottom lip
in-between her teeth so gently
that 'baby' is a mere breath that floats into your mouth,
'oh baby.'
Has anybody ever called you daddy?
I mean, like a lover.
Not the guy at the record store who greets you when you walk in
'what's up daddio!'
Not the little girl in line at the aquarium who looks up at you
'daddy?'
And definitely not the young girl at that concert;
you were definitely old enough to be her daddy.
I mean, has a lover ever called you daddy?
Have you ever heard the word daddy come out of your woman's mouth
when she's sitting on the edge of your bed wearing those seamed stockings,
your button down shirt,
your scent all over it,
beckoning you with her finger
'come here daddy'
Has anybody ever sat you down after a long hard day
and worked the knots from your shoulders?
Slow danced with you in the kitchen
while a pot of soup simmers on the stove?
Made you cornbread from scratch to go in that pot of soup?
Let you lick the icing from their fingertips?
Baby, when I finish making this cake for you,
I want you to sit down at the head of my kitchen table
while I rub all the dirt off your shoulders,
whispering in your ear 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 belly.
And when you've had your fill of that,
I'm going to release that darkness right back out of your soul
until you explode
over
and over
again.
Meet Me In The Alley Out Back
You said "I'm only mortal, I cant handle the sudden nothingness."
I guess you forgot I'm only mortal, too? I don't hold it against you or anything. I know you're in a place you feel like you can't get out (but you will). Plus, I know you like to think I'm a goddess and I love to indulge your fantasies, baby.
But the sudden nothingness. I can't handle it either.
But I will. I will handle it for you.
I printed out all our correspondence. It's sitting on my kitchen table. Don't worry about the kid reading it, the first several pages are pretty benign. We didn't get indecent til later
Indecent is not the right word though. Fix that for me. It never felt indecent. More like perfect.
You said "I'm not parting ways with anything else, including you."
I'm holding you to that. Even now. Even though you've gone incognito. Maybe incognito is not the right word either. I'm not good at finding the right words. You always were.
I know you want to read my installment of "Skate or Die." It looks like I'm gonna have to write your parts, too. I hope you don't mind if I finish it for us. When I get it published and become a famous author, will you come to my book signing? I'll recognize you immediately. The air will become electric.
(I had this whole part written about how you'd offer me your hand and lead me out the door and around the corner to an alley wall where we'd proceed to blow each others mind but I took it out 'cause that's only for you to read and I don't know who else might be watching me type these words. HA HA. NO ONE is actually reading this garbage, not even you, and I know it but I like to try to appear classy even though I write whole poems talking about fucking shit up. Anyway, you would have liked our back alley scene and would have contributed to it and made me lose my marbles like you're so good at doing. You should come back around so we can drive each other mad with our words cause that was fun as all hell)
Well, that took a nose dive real quick. But that's what happens when I think about you.
I'm working on becoming a millionaire so you don't have to deal with "bomb cyclones" or wild fires. And I don't have to deal with MAGA hats and rednecks.
Where do you want to go?
I'll go anywhere with you.
Close your eyes and pick a place on the map.
My bags are already packed.
I guess you forgot I'm only mortal, too? I don't hold it against you or anything. I know you're in a place you feel like you can't get out (but you will). Plus, I know you like to think I'm a goddess and I love to indulge your fantasies, baby.
But the sudden nothingness. I can't handle it either.
But I will. I will handle it for you.
I printed out all our correspondence. It's sitting on my kitchen table. Don't worry about the kid reading it, the first several pages are pretty benign. We didn't get indecent til later
Indecent is not the right word though. Fix that for me. It never felt indecent. More like perfect.
You said "I'm not parting ways with anything else, including you."
I'm holding you to that. Even now. Even though you've gone incognito. Maybe incognito is not the right word either. I'm not good at finding the right words. You always were.
I know you want to read my installment of "Skate or Die." It looks like I'm gonna have to write your parts, too. I hope you don't mind if I finish it for us. When I get it published and become a famous author, will you come to my book signing? I'll recognize you immediately. The air will become electric.
(I had this whole part written about how you'd offer me your hand and lead me out the door and around the corner to an alley wall where we'd proceed to blow each others mind but I took it out 'cause that's only for you to read and I don't know who else might be watching me type these words. HA HA. NO ONE is actually reading this garbage, not even you, and I know it but I like to try to appear classy even though I write whole poems talking about fucking shit up. Anyway, you would have liked our back alley scene and would have contributed to it and made me lose my marbles like you're so good at doing. You should come back around so we can drive each other mad with our words cause that was fun as all hell)
Well, that took a nose dive real quick. But that's what happens when I think about you.
I'm working on becoming a millionaire so you don't have to deal with "bomb cyclones" or wild fires. And I don't have to deal with MAGA hats and rednecks.
Where do you want to go?
I'll go anywhere with you.
Close your eyes and pick a place on the map.
My bags are already packed.
12.07.2019
Hey guys, this probably isn't the right place to post this but I can't think of a better place since everyone here has experienced this. I just want to know if getting a DUI would cause you to completely shut down communication with someone you've just met? I've been talking to an awesome guy I met online since the end of September. We have been emailing exclusively (we are older and email is what we feel good with right now). We email constantly back and forth all day and into the night. We've grown very close this way and have gotten to know each other very well. We were planning to meet after the holidays. Two weeks ago, I received an email from his friend that said "S wanted me to tell you one thing but I'm going to tell you another...DUI." Just for context, this friend has emailed me once before when S was in the hospital with pneumonia just to let me know what was going on. I'm assuming S asked him to do that so I wouldn't worry and I'm assuming he did the same thing this time.
Anyway, my only response was to ask if he was ok. I got an email the following day, Sunday, from the friend saying he was going to pick him up and get his car and did I want to pass along a word to him? I just said to tell him I was glad he was getting out and to jokingly call him a degenerate for me and berate him a little bit. I didn't expect to hear from him Sunday at all because I knew he would be feeling overwhelmed. So I waited until Monday to send him an email telling him it was going to be ok and I was here for him when/if he wanted to talk. Well, the email came back as 'mailbox unavailable.' I emailed the friend and asked if S was ok and to tell him to contact me. The friend replied and said basically 'f*** that guy!'
It's now been two weeks and I have no way to contact him and he has not contacted me. I am devastated. Both for myself because I really liked this guy but also for him because I'm afraid he's depressed and ashamed. He's not actually a degenerate. He's a really good person who made a really poor decision. I guess. I don't actually know any of the particulars surrounding what happened. But I've been talking to him for over two months now and I feel like I know his heart and his mind.
So, do you think his shame has caused him to shut me out? And if he's ashamed, do you think he'll eventually contact me again? That's all I want, really. For him to get back in touch with me
Dear You:
Would you mind very much if I asked you,
forcibly but kindly,
to get your ass back here and let me tend to you?
You need tending to.
Your beard is looking a bit unkempt and your shirt needs a good iron
and I doubt you've filled your belly with any kind of comfort.
Your lips are dry and are starting to crack.
You forgot to pick up your fancy lip balm when you were at the pharmacy two days ago tomorrow.
I happen to have a tube in my pocket.
Here.
Let me run it over your lips for you.
And your poor hands are starting to ache
from all the words you keep writing to me but then erasing
because you think none of the words will work.
Let me have your hands between mine
and I'll rub your deluxe lotion all over them in circles while I massage the knots out of your palms.
Sit here in this chair at my kitchen table and I'll play a song for you
while breakfast cooks on the stove.
Long hard nights deserve bacon and pancakes in the morning;
that sweet batter filling all the gaps in your soul
Let me stand behind you and knead all the rocks from your shoulders
until you rise from the sudden buoyancy of their release.
You can close your eyes if you like.
Just let me tend to you.
Would you mind very much if I asked you,
forcibly but kindly,
to get your ass back here and let me tend to you?
You need tending to.
Your beard is looking a bit unkempt and your shirt needs a good iron
and I doubt you've filled your belly with any kind of comfort.
Your lips are dry and are starting to crack.
You forgot to pick up your fancy lip balm when you were at the pharmacy two days ago tomorrow.
I happen to have a tube in my pocket.
Here.
Let me run it over your lips for you.
And your poor hands are starting to ache
from all the words you keep writing to me but then erasing
because you think none of the words will work.
Let me have your hands between mine
and I'll rub your deluxe lotion all over them in circles while I massage the knots out of your palms.
Sit here in this chair at my kitchen table and I'll play a song for you
while breakfast cooks on the stove.
Long hard nights deserve bacon and pancakes in the morning;
that sweet batter filling all the gaps in your soul
Let me stand behind you and knead all the rocks from your shoulders
until you rise from the sudden buoyancy of their release.
You can close your eyes if you like.
Just let me tend to you.
Divine
There was a parade in town today. I took pictures to show you. There were horses. I thought about "Roan Stallion." (don't worry I didn't try to ride any of them) None of them looked like the roan stallion, though. They were too small and not nearly majestic enough.
After the parade, we walked downtown and stood in a line three miles long just to order some loaded french fries and funnel cakes. I thought about you when I ate the french fries.
I'm going to take Max to his first concert soon. It would have been fun to talk to you about that. Maybe you would have given me suggestions on who to see; maybe you would have even gone with us.
You still can. I'm still here.
Do you know I haven't even decorated for Christmas yet? I usually put my tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving but I haven't even brought it down from the attic. I've promised Max we'll do it this weekend, though. I'll take pictures to show you.
I get a song stuck in my head and I can't really listen to anything else. Right now, it's that Josh Rouse song I posted the other day. Was that only yesterday? I think about you when I listen to it.
Well, truth be told....I think about you constantly. All through the day and all through the night until I finally fall asleep.
I wonder if I'll think about you forever.
I hope so. I mean, I'd rather have you around but if all I get from here on out is just your memory, I guess that's better than nothing. I really didn't ever believe you were out there. I didn't believe you existed. But you do! And I met you! And it was more than everything I thought it would be.
It was fucking divine.
You are divine. Like super good. Or maybe super rad.
I wish you'd come back around so I could tell you that. I think you need to hear it.
After the parade, we walked downtown and stood in a line three miles long just to order some loaded french fries and funnel cakes. I thought about you when I ate the french fries.
I'm going to take Max to his first concert soon. It would have been fun to talk to you about that. Maybe you would have given me suggestions on who to see; maybe you would have even gone with us.
You still can. I'm still here.
Do you know I haven't even decorated for Christmas yet? I usually put my tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving but I haven't even brought it down from the attic. I've promised Max we'll do it this weekend, though. I'll take pictures to show you.
I get a song stuck in my head and I can't really listen to anything else. Right now, it's that Josh Rouse song I posted the other day. Was that only yesterday? I think about you when I listen to it.
Well, truth be told....I think about you constantly. All through the day and all through the night until I finally fall asleep.
I wonder if I'll think about you forever.
I hope so. I mean, I'd rather have you around but if all I get from here on out is just your memory, I guess that's better than nothing. I really didn't ever believe you were out there. I didn't believe you existed. But you do! And I met you! And it was more than everything I thought it would be.
It was fucking divine.
You are divine. Like super good. Or maybe super rad.
I wish you'd come back around so I could tell you that. I think you need to hear it.
12.06.2019
Come here, baby. I want to tell you something.
The day is over now but night hasn't yet arrived.
it's that in-between time.
The Gloaming.
You hate The Gloaming.
It makes you feel like you're suffocating there between the sun and the moon;
the two of them pressing against you from either side;
one giving,
one taking.
Come here and take this walk with me down to the rivers edge.
There's a patch of spider lily's there I know you'd like to see
and they look perfect in this light, their red spider fingers
reaching up and then curling down into themselves.
Hurry! Bring your camera. I know you'll get a perfect picture in the waning light of this day.
Will you print it and frame it for me? My birthday is coming up and I'd really like that.
Now, take my hand. Walk with me along this moonlit path back to our house.
I brought the medicine for your headache. I'm just going to put these two brown pills right here
next to this cold glass of water I poured for you.
You've been working all day and I saw you leaned back in your chair.
Your eyes were closed and your hands were laced together in your lap.
It's time for you to stop but you won't so take this medicine here instead.
It's midnight in summer and jazzy blues are coming in soft waves from the stereo;
I've left the windows in the bedroom open all day
so the air is thick with the sweet bloom of the magnolia tree down below.
I won't let go of this breath I've been holding for you
until I hear the mattress creak from your weight.
Baby,
You're in the ring right now, your face is a bloody pulp,
you can barely hold your hands up in front of you.
That other guy is beating you down hard and fast,
but the bell is about to ring and I've already shoved in this mouthguard.
My gloves have blades on the end of them
and I'm about to fuck this little pussy bitch all the way up.
So you just go rest back there in that corner and put some ice over that eye;
it's starting to swell and I don't want you to miss this beat down.
But listen, baby, we gotta get outta here the minute I mop the floor with this mother fucker
so be ready to run. I don't think the blades in my gloves are legal and they're gonna come after us.
But they won't catch us.
I won't let them.
Come here, baby.
I'm gonna love you like you've never been loved before.
The day is over now but night hasn't yet arrived.
it's that in-between time.
The Gloaming.
You hate The Gloaming.
It makes you feel like you're suffocating there between the sun and the moon;
the two of them pressing against you from either side;
one giving,
one taking.
Come here and take this walk with me down to the rivers edge.
There's a patch of spider lily's there I know you'd like to see
and they look perfect in this light, their red spider fingers
reaching up and then curling down into themselves.
Hurry! Bring your camera. I know you'll get a perfect picture in the waning light of this day.
Will you print it and frame it for me? My birthday is coming up and I'd really like that.
Now, take my hand. Walk with me along this moonlit path back to our house.
I brought the medicine for your headache. I'm just going to put these two brown pills right here
next to this cold glass of water I poured for you.
You've been working all day and I saw you leaned back in your chair.
Your eyes were closed and your hands were laced together in your lap.
It's time for you to stop but you won't so take this medicine here instead.
It's midnight in summer and jazzy blues are coming in soft waves from the stereo;
I've left the windows in the bedroom open all day
so the air is thick with the sweet bloom of the magnolia tree down below.
I won't let go of this breath I've been holding for you
until I hear the mattress creak from your weight.
Baby,
You're in the ring right now, your face is a bloody pulp,
you can barely hold your hands up in front of you.
That other guy is beating you down hard and fast,
but the bell is about to ring and I've already shoved in this mouthguard.
My gloves have blades on the end of them
and I'm about to fuck this little pussy bitch all the way up.
So you just go rest back there in that corner and put some ice over that eye;
it's starting to swell and I don't want you to miss this beat down.
But listen, baby, we gotta get outta here the minute I mop the floor with this mother fucker
so be ready to run. I don't think the blades in my gloves are legal and they're gonna come after us.
But they won't catch us.
I won't let them.
Come here, baby.
I'm gonna love you like you've never been loved before.
Waiting
I keep trying to find the words today but they're not making any sense. I keep tapping them out on this keyboard but I can't make them fit together.
It's Friday and I miss you. It was Thursday yesterday and I missed you then, too.
Maybe I will just miss you forever.
Remember how I said before I met you, I was just gonna live out the rest of my days alone until I became an old woman who sat by the window and hoped Max would come home for Christmas that year?
Well, now I will sit by the window and wait for you too.
12.05.2019
14 days
remember, 14 days ago, when there was color behind my eyes
and I could breathe
and i busted the speaker in my car
listening to my music so loud
because there was color again?
that was 14 days ago.
there was still color 13 days ago, too.
and 12.
and 11.
and 10.
there was still color for part of 9, too.
but then it went dark
and it's been black around here for 9 and a half days now
and i need some night vision goggles
because i can't see a goddamn thing.
and people keep asking me questions
and expecting answers.
and max wants scrambled eggs for breakfast
but what's that? i can't find the carton anywhere.
nothing is where i left it and
I've gone blind.
and i might be going mad too.
now the busted speaker is just a reminder
of my busted up life,
of my busted up head,
of my busted up eyes,
of my busted up heart.
it's all just busted the fuck up.
and i keep trying to pick up all the pieces
so i can glue them all back together
but it's so fucking dark in here.
CAN SOMEBODY TURN ON THE GODDAMN LIGHTS ALREADY?
except the lights won't help because i'm fucking blind.
now I've got pieces of my eyes glued to pieces of my heart,
and strands of my hair glued to the dashboard,
and the speaker is covered in bits of my brain,
and it sounds like absolute shit in here now.
i should really call the dealership and tend to the busted up speaker,
but how am i supposed to do that when i can't GODDAMN HEAR either.
For fucks sake.
I can't goddamn hear.
can somebody bring me a fucking cane?
or just sit me down in this wheelchair
but don't put me over by the window.
i can't see shit anyway and i can't hear the birds
singing the-fuck-knows-what to each other,
so it doesn't bloody matter where you wheel me.
just throw me in the utility closet
with the bugs and chemicals.
i can't smell or feel a motherfucking thing anyway.
throw me the fuck away already.
roll my body up in that cheap rug you bought from Ollie's
and take me out to the city dump.
i hope the goddamn compactor rolls right over me
and crushes all my bones to pulp,
and i leak out into the soil,
and maybe the ants and worms
can find some nourishment
in that bloody fucking stew.
you're goddamn welcome you fucking bug motherfuckers.
and I could breathe
and i busted the speaker in my car
listening to my music so loud
because there was color again?
that was 14 days ago.
there was still color 13 days ago, too.
and 12.
and 11.
and 10.
there was still color for part of 9, too.
but then it went dark
and it's been black around here for 9 and a half days now
and i need some night vision goggles
because i can't see a goddamn thing.
and people keep asking me questions
and expecting answers.
and max wants scrambled eggs for breakfast
but what's that? i can't find the carton anywhere.
nothing is where i left it and
I've gone blind.
and i might be going mad too.
now the busted speaker is just a reminder
of my busted up life,
of my busted up head,
of my busted up eyes,
of my busted up heart.
it's all just busted the fuck up.
and i keep trying to pick up all the pieces
so i can glue them all back together
but it's so fucking dark in here.
CAN SOMEBODY TURN ON THE GODDAMN LIGHTS ALREADY?
except the lights won't help because i'm fucking blind.
now I've got pieces of my eyes glued to pieces of my heart,
and strands of my hair glued to the dashboard,
and the speaker is covered in bits of my brain,
and it sounds like absolute shit in here now.
i should really call the dealership and tend to the busted up speaker,
but how am i supposed to do that when i can't GODDAMN HEAR either.
For fucks sake.
I can't goddamn hear.
can somebody bring me a fucking cane?
or just sit me down in this wheelchair
but don't put me over by the window.
i can't see shit anyway and i can't hear the birds
singing the-fuck-knows-what to each other,
so it doesn't bloody matter where you wheel me.
just throw me in the utility closet
with the bugs and chemicals.
i can't smell or feel a motherfucking thing anyway.
throw me the fuck away already.
roll my body up in that cheap rug you bought from Ollie's
and take me out to the city dump.
i hope the goddamn compactor rolls right over me
and crushes all my bones to pulp,
and i leak out into the soil,
and maybe the ants and worms
can find some nourishment
in that bloody fucking stew.
you're goddamn welcome you fucking bug motherfuckers.
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Once Upon A Time
I spent the last two hours writing to you. It's long and drawn out and I'm not going to post it here. It was an attempt to make se...
