The end of it all means me and you and I don’t know. The end of it all is the desire for your breasts. The end of it all began in the living room floor. The beginning carries both our hearts. Maybe I write this to give you something to read. Maybe it is something beyond me and you. Maybe your eyes will look crazy at me and you and your perfect thing will look at me and think you and me are perfect, or not. Maybe I can kiss your belly, once more. Maybe once more, before I...
I think I will marry a teacher.
Working on freelance tonight, my constant churn, and after the baseball games were over for the day, Elizabethtown was on and I remembered that there was some connection to you with that movie. I got sucked in, again, and put off going to bed for an hour to reach the pathos to be granted at the end. You remember? The salmon swim up stream risking and causing, at times, there own death, but in that journey they are guaranteeing life. I don’t really know. I guess that’s a way to look at things. It’s worth getting bloodied if it makes all of this more worth it, if it leads to something better for us, or someone else. I feel bloodied a bit these last couple of days. Not horribly so, just a little bruised maybe. But strangely I feel free too. I hate that it meant giving up on us, and on you, for that to happen, but I guess it’s kind of like those salmon. But then of course there’s the Tom Petty songs, “It’ll all work out” and “Square one.” I remember you making me listen to them in your car, likely sitting outside of my house one night. I am not sure. Strange sad yet hopeful sentiment in both of them, but I feel some valuable instruction there as well. Still I wish that the living was a little easier, that I could have my dreams come true. Or at least that I could have another crack at so many of them. Or, perhaps, it is time for the new...
Sometimes I don’t feel like you know me at all. Whoever “you” is any way, or “me”, I guess that’s what I am saying. Like I walk around these days and I try to write about my summer in this city, this hot and sweaty city, where the homeless have such an effect on me. I find it hard to write honestly when I know who the “yous” are that may be reading. I don’t have that problem with the “you” I write to here. So I will tell you about my summer in the city. Some days the homeless are the only thing that can make me smile, some days the bring me nearly to my knees. Yesterday, one was having a streetside straw poll over whether a dog or a super bowl ring was more important. He wanted to know my thoughts. He urged a drunk on down the road and then asked for money for a beer. WHen I said I had no money, he asked me to bring him back a cheeseburger or something. I thought about brining him one back but decided to give him money instead, because I wanted him to make his own decision, and because if I were in his shoes I would probably opt for the beer too. Like tonight I went into the market down the street after having a slice and salad, ostensibly to pick up cigarettes, then I decided I needed milk so I will start eating breakfast, and as I was passing the beer coolers I saw a six pack of Coors. Not Coors Light, but...
I don’t like this at all, even if it is necessary. I mean it, Las Vegas, Walhalla, Mexico…I want to think we could make it work, but some say it will work or it won’t. I can’t be a part of that club. I am ready for father, for husband, for something else to go to work for every...
I don’t like this at all, even if it is necessary. I mean it, Las Vegas, Walhalla, Mexico…I want to think we could make it work, but some say it will work or it won’t. I can’t be a part of that club. I am ready for father, for husband, for something else to go to work for every...
I don’t like this at all, even if it is necessary. I mean it, Las Vegas, Walhalla, Mexico…I want to think we could make it work, but some say it will work or it won’t. I can’t be a part of that club. I am ready for father, for husband, for something else to go to work for every...
Through the windows of my house tonight, there are dark figures laughing at me. Some of them are jesters, laughing at the fool that I am. I never saw that it would workout this way. Never learned such things in school or from mom and dad. Love, caring, kinship and all that stuff were supposed to be good things… beyond reproach, right? If you could find all of those things, you surely had at least a good friend, possibly a spouse, someone, at least, that would be there for life, or until those things waned. The jesters are laughing at me even through their sad masks tonight. All life is lived in a sequence of contradictions. That this love, this care, this kinship could be the precise reason why we can’t go on seems unfair. Not as friends, or lovers, or nothing. I thought I had it all figured out at 16. I would marry her shortly after we both graduated from the college that we would both be attending. And then again at 21, I thought it would be her with the child-bearing hips and malleable person. My fair lady. Then I floundered about for several years and found the thing that made me realize that all of those other thoughts were so wrong. This time was for real. This is what I didn’t know at any time before. This was surely it. Every woman before you that I thought I would marry has proven impossible to remain friends with. I have wanted it so much with you. We have tried, through much internal strife and pain for...
“It’s just life,” you said, well kind of said, but rather text messaged, and you are right. I would never argue with that. We are born dying. Sooner or later it comes for all of us. But this was different because she was in her early 40s. This one was different because she knew about it for less than two months. This one is different because one day she was at work and the next day she was not. She spent that day finding out that she had stage 4 ovarian cancer, and then she began dying faster than she had ever done in her life. And the very next day we would all find out at work. And then we would slowly start to realize that there are no more happy hours with Diane. There’s no more of the rye humor, the cutting scowl and the big smile. There would be no more feminist editorials or parties out on the farm. It’s also different because she was just about to finish the process for adopting a child when she found out she was rotting on the inside. The news today settled like heavy, dark dust all over the newsroom. We still did our jobs but the conversation on the elevator didn’t even take on the normal mindless chatter about the weather etc. I saw my friend Mark out front of the building and he said, “It sucks when they take one of the good ones.” I said, “Especially the good ones.” Then he surprised me and said, “Maybe she will come back.” I said, “Maybe.” I don’t know...
Haven’t really written here in a while. Don’t know when/if you check. Was disturbed a little by your text message tonight. Hope you are okay and not too emotional, but you tend to get that way this time of the summer. Was also worried that you assumed that my wanting to talk to you would likely be the introduction of new drama into your life. I guess I have caused lots of drama for you in the past, but I would say that is not the case for the last couple of years most of the time. If that indeed is how you view me, then you don’t really need that in your life. I will not contact you until I hear from you that it is okay. Not mad or really sad or anything really, just don’t want to be a Jenny to you if that’s what I am. Of course, you may not think of me like that at all, which, if true, makes this whole paragraph moot. I have been dealing with a little health scare this weekend that I believe will be a simple thing and thus I am not thinking the worst. I awoke on Friday with a sore collar bone and when investigating I found a lump on my collar bone. Apparently it is in the area where we have one lymph node. I think it is a swollen lymph node which could be caused by lots of different things. You can imagine what the worst is but I believe mine is likely to be related to an insect bite and consequent skin...
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