If Stompy will rip her own bible to have something to stomp about, what else is she capable of?
Who fucking knows and more importantly? I don’t care to find out.
I am halting the writing of this to check my horoscope, brb.
Shit, cue the tears. Thought we had those in check. Survey says…nope.
He gets me every time…
http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20180412.html
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 . . .
Every moment, with all its stars and scars is the perfect one. Even if I can’t see it yet.
I already know what I want. Everybody knows. Except him. He seems to think I don’t know what I am getting into, that I need to be sheltered. Fuck that.
I know exactly what I want, I am here right?
So does the convenience store clerk. Her name is Ophelia and she is lovely.
Her: He better be a saint
Me: Jesus no, I have no use for saints.
He’s like sitting next to a lion, that protects me and listens to me…but only sometimes, then I have to let him go be a beast. And he wanders.
He is currently wandering. So be it. We’re magnets, he will come back.
But that isn’t exactly what this is about.
Everybody also knows, weird shit happens to me. It’s the only reason anyone reads this damned blog. And truth be told, I like my weird little life. Without adventure, things get boring and stagnant. So…technically, I invite all this chaos.
Weird shit happens to me…but it’s like nothing for a long time, then all at once. Like I am driving on this highway at night and I go miles and hours with no sign of anything, then this barrage of billboards hit me so fast and I can’t decipher what the fuck is happening or where I am or where I am going or what the signs say.
I didn’t want to spend the night in the cathouse on my night off. Better to be the fuck away from here. Also…hot tub, king sized bed. We call this winning.
Except.
I didn’t really think this through. I had no idea how close in proximity I was to the place where I spent that one night in heaven with the boy. The one that called me back here. I walked through the parking lot of the church and I saw us in the car, smoking, keeping warm, before heading back to bed. I saw us in the bed, in the reflection of the glass of the fireplace. But the bed was cold this time around and I stayed on my side.
Cue the repressed memories of paradise.
I didn’t really mean to be there, I just had to leave and that place came up first on Google search. So I called. Vacancy, hotel room (lost in me lost in you*)
Not gonna lie, there were a few hot, sad tears rolling down my cheeks, but I got in the Jacuzzi and let my troubles boil and bubble away. Sent my angst down the drain.
Was mildly irritated by the fact that I forgot my pain pills and my laptop cord. I had a headache, real and proverbial butthurt. But I settled in and watched bad movies on AMC instead of my usual Netflix.
I forgot about commercials.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=riNi-4MO42E&pbjreload=10
Here be the background music I was looking for. I still have no idea what the hell is going on though.
It’s my song with Giant, in a beer commercial about anchors.
For a minute I couldn’t breathe.
For a minute it was -30 degrees outside, 25 months ago, my belly was full of scotch and steak. I was sex sore and so sated, my head on Giant’s chest, listening to his heartbeat with one ear and “this” song with the other. I was overwhelmed and asked him if he could stay a while. He said yes. There is no way either one of us could have realized how true that was going to be.
We talked till 3am his time
Just to put this into context. I never ever watch tv. Like ever. And this song is beyond obscure.
Your Hand in Mine
The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place
Released: 2003
How does that even happen?
Some indie beer company’s advertising exec pulls a song from 15 years ago and voila, my heart stops because I am in the hotel watching actual television for the first time since I was in that hotel last time.
Sending postcards to himself in the future to remind him of being happy. I do that. Every day.
The world is full of anchors, meant to keep you in place. And sometimes, the only person who can remind you to lift those anchors, is you.
There is message in here somewhere. Something about ships being safe at harbor but that’s not what they are for.
To be completely fair, that particular song is not our song. Ours is Postcard from 1952, same band, same cadence, less heart punch.
It’s the one that is close, the one that I allowed myself to listen to, in the car one varying playlists, because it’s close but not quite. It was safer.
But still. What did that sign just say?
6 months. Go back. I have no fucking idea. Honestly. I got lost somehow.
Something else happened, rather monumental, but I can’t write about it. Let’s just say this island is tiny as fuck and my life is like a weird soap opera directed by Quentin Tarantino with the same cast and premise as Peaky Blinders.
Giant told me I’ve come too far and not to deny myself the finale.
I’ll abide.
Anchors up.
(* Lumineers, Angela)
I think the Giant is right, and I don’t know what else to say. On the Anchors Up theme, I’d say get it up and set sail, but you already did that.