The Amaryllis

Oh for a moment
What a moment this is
Oh for a moment of forgetting
Is a moment of bliss
Peter Gabriel

I woke up at 9 yesterday morning, without a hangover. Sun shining, up early and aware for the first time in a while and I realized why my tiny orchid is struggling, poor baby was getting direct sunlight. They don’t like that.

I had to buy an orchid. The amaryllis has gone back into hibernation and I need living things in my room, something to look after, keep me tethered here.

I planted it when I got back from Newfoundland the first time and it came up beautifully. I named it Hope and it was well looked after and loved.  I cut it back before I left for Mexico and figured that was that. It could live in storage with everything else and bloom again next year. But as I was getting ready to come back here a month later, there was a tiny sprout, so I brought it with me. Still calling it Hope. Still watering it daily and speaking nicely to it.

I took it as a good omen.

It sent up 5, 3 foot leaves and never did blossom the second time around. Went through weird cycles of perking up, then drooping like it was over then perking right back up again. I finally gave up Friday and cut it back. Put it somewhere cold and dark till next time.

This is both absolute truth and a fucking metaphor.

I am not sure why I decided to keep a record of every fucking feeling I have ever had, but I do.
Just opened an old, seemingly harmless, innocuous blog post and ended up bawling over a line or two. Three really.

“You spoil me” he said, right after, as he was holding onto me like the grail.

I know he meant it as a compliment but it tore through me like a knife. Echoes of ___________.

I dug my fingers into him, trying to keep my grip on this reality and just stay in it for a minute.

That seems like a different life. But it was the end of January. I was speaking of Big Spoon for the record.

The more things change the more they stay the same.

It is still so weird quoting myself.

And while digging through my old mess looking for things to post I realized I forgot to delete “Friday Night Fights (Nfld. Part 4).”

I have deleted everything from that chapter of my life.

It’s now gone but not forgotten. I couldn’t read any of them anyways. I know exactly what happened and I know what I wrote.

I meant every word.

It is my blessing to remember everything, even if I don’t write it down and I do, at great length whilst leaving trap doors for myself to fall through.

For the record, I have not forgotten why I am here. How could I?

Maybe that is why I have been drinking so much. If I am blacked out I don’t remember. If I am sober I have to use the other stairwell, the cold one by the door.

Nah, nothing is anyone’s fault but my own. I know this. I am painfully shy sober, I have stage fright, time moves quicker when I am drinking and I honestly enjoy a good buzz. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy. The problems arise when I drink too much and get sleepy and stabby.

I picked a really odd job all things considered.

First night after my third round of deciding to sober up, again.

Made 100
Drank but didn’t get drunk.
I have 5 packs of Marlboros
Thank you to Josh for the smokes and for questioning my request for a whiskey.
His inquiry made me check myself, and he was the only one who even tried to stop me.

I am trying hella hard to be better to my body. My heart, not so much.

Letting go is a messy process sometimes and I am terrible at it.

My friend Lorri gets it…

You’ll “let it go” a hundred times…trust me…but it’s always there, down deep, in the shadows between need and want. We can say “bullet dodged”, but we don’t believe it. Not really…

No it isn’t. It’s an amaryllis bulb in a cupboard that failed to bloom a second time.

I keep waiting for the moment of clarity, and it hasn’t come. I am watching another one slip away and I am detached, like watching something on a movie screen. The “he’s gone” message of Friday morning is making more sense now, and I did not see that coming. Nope.