Oh, I know
I’m holding on
I’m holding on to a ghost
I know
I’m tangled up
I’m tangled up in your ropes
I know
I’m skippin’ work
I’m skippin’ work like a stone
I know
It’s ok I’m not a-ok right now
Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker, N/A OK
That happened, verbatim. And I got coconut oil on that dress, I love that dress.
I am not ok right now.
And for my next trick I will reach into my recently retired winter purse and pull out… a carrot peeler?
And resume my position of puddle girl crying on the floor.
Only in my head. Okay, truth. My eyes leaked a little, but the flood seems to have passed. Just waiting on a dove and an olive branch.
We are almost done, I swear it. I can’t even anymore.
Sorry my Sunshine. I have tried fucking this poison out, crying it out, toughing it out and it just keeps ending up here. Skip over this if you must, I will understand.
The pen is my sword, my blood is my ink and a carrot peeler has become a catalyst.
My dad gave it to me years ago.
It’s important to me. I have lost a lot in this life, not that though, never that.
And I kinda want my Tupperware back. I don’t want it back so much as I just want back in the house and upstairs. I will forever wash the Tupperware if I can just go back upstairs.
I still read his horoscope when I read mine.
This…
*Welcome to the Beauty and Truth Lab.
We’re coming to you live from your repressed memories of paradise, reminding you that you can have anything you want if you will just ask for it in an unselfish way.
Welcome to the end of your nightmares, beauty and truth fans!
The world is young, your soul is free, and a naked celebrity is dying to talk to you about your most intimate secrets right now.
Just kidding.
In fact, the world is young, your soul is free, and at any moment you will feel a flood of ecstatic compassion for salamanders, oak trees, clouds, toasters, convenience store clerks, and even the ocean itself.
I’m your host.
My name is the Sacred Janitor at the Edge of Time, and I’m proud to announce that this is a perfect moment.
It’s a perfect moment for many reasons, but especially because you are on the verge of finally figuring out exactly what it is you really want more than anything else . . .
Fucking Postcard from 1952 is playing again, seriously?
Hadn’t heard that song in a week, but twice in two days. Still a thunderpunch to the heart.
Add *Rob Brezsny and a carrot peeler and I have flashbacks galore.
The one I call Giggles and Human Serotonin was sitting with me at the bar one night, the Giant was messaging me. In an untoward and forward manner considering he has a girlfriend. But I was feeding it. Love does that, makes you bend. Sometimes at the knees.
I asked him to come get me and he didn’t. He’d been drinking.
She answered in her 19 year old way of making pouty dolphin noises.
For a minute I wished I was her, at least she had a shot with him if you considered their age.
She asked me why I couldn’t let go.
I told her I was in love with him.
“Well, have you told him that?” she asked.
“No, honey, I don’t know how.” I said (except here and now like this I suppose)
I vowed aloud to her the next day if that happened again I would walk out the door to him.
I had to wait 3 whole days.
He messaged on a Tuesday, said he was home asked if I wanted to watch a movie.
I didn’t even have to think about it.
I made some half-drunk bullshit excuse ran out the door of work and hopped in a cab before he changed his mind. Passed about 300 bucks worth of customers on my way out. Didn’t care, still don’t.
We were both drunky when he opened the door and I stumbled inside.
We had more drinks.
We giggled and laughed and talked and touched like we hadn’t spent the last month apart.
We fucked with reckless abandon and lightning bolts louder and brighter than before, to that damned song. Explosions in the Sky. The one that only previously reminded me he promised he would stay. After I promised him that if she wasn’t the one I would just take his hand and take him upstairs. I don’t break promises, I did exactly that, twice.
Now I reminds me of him, inside me. Us. Molten and moving.
The carrot peeler happened the next day. We had a lunch date planned. I brought over pasta and made parmesan curls with it, all fancy-like.
Whatever had been holding us back physically had dissipated the night before, never to return.
There was no music when we went upstairs, no false pretense of a movie. No cover of darkness. I got to see him in all his glory, holding me down and open, blocking out the sun. Like an eclipse, I stared too long and the image and halo are burned into my eyes and memory.
Earlier I danced in the kitchen to a live John Mayer album while he finished off renos in the dining room, occasionally sneaking peeks at the other through the doorway and smiling. I caught a glimpse of what life would be like if he had stayed with me and I floated around that fucking kitchen, doing dishes and grinning like an idiot. Idiot being the operative word.
Both of us.
And I say this with all kindness intended. My darling Giant. You are a fucking idiot. Who lets this go? Who lets me go?
At least I hope you are an idiot, it’s that or the world’s most beautiful liar. Please be an idiot and then stop doing that.
What if this storm ends and I don’t see you? (Snow Patrol)
