Some Blog

A beautiful wreck

03/17/2006

There were words today and tonight. Being the tail end of Drunk Irish Day (DID aka St. Patrick’s Day) I may have lost the words, but the momentum is still here. 

The support of an unexpected source, via an even more unexpected email because seriously she’s better than I in more than a million ways and maybe more if I were even able to enumerate all the ways (how do I love thee, let me count the ways), made me sit back and remember a time when I was bold and brave. A time when I was truer but oh so hard.

Now the hard crunchy shell has suffered a tectonic shift, revealing the soft inner melt in your mouth not in your hand milk chocolate.

As hard as I have found writing something of worth, I NEED to write. The loss of my vomitiginous verbiage has left me bound and gagged. Having waved down an interested party I know that the only way forward is to move forward.

And now, a memory…Brought to you by the letter A

“Hi Some Girl. I was just on my way to [somewhere] and I was thinking of.”

76-Message one has been deleted.

No matter how much this is about to hurt, I have to admit the truth. So I am sorry. My preemptive apology, clammy aloe on a 3rd degree burn, not really all that successful, I know, but every time I hear his voice I think about how much I love him.

Present tense. Because there will never be a time when I don’t love him. Or the him before him. Or the him before him before him. It carries through my days and night like Charles in charge. The lingering presence will never be eviscerated because I am weak and soft.

I wish I were a better person, more able to compartmentalize and segregate. My mental house of cards does not allow for the removal of the warped card. Instead I integrate and further support the weak join (mix some sawdust into some wood glue and the glue becomes a viable support for the unsupportable).

I like to think that all of this makes me healthy and well adjusted. Maybe I am just honest but neither healthy nor well adjusted. Possibly. Whatever the truth, I wonder, am I holding on to a past truth because at least I know it existed for real instead of taking the chance on the future, which may hold nothing but tears and sorrow. I need to know, how do you stop loving the love(s) of your life?

Bruce and I had a mini tangle this morning. I was madish. He was himself. I know that certain behaviors won’t (can’t) change, and so when he behaved as he would I was sad that I was so surprised by him being true to form. I guess there needs to be a two by four shattering my glass house (made of warped cards) for me to see the obvious.