maybe we'll be alright after all...

I'm pretty much terrified these days. I don't fall asleep until several hours after initially lying down. I find myself making my way to the bathroom floor, hovering over the toilet but never amounting to anything. Dry heaving, looking to rid my body of what, I don't know, trying to make things right but not knowing how. Afraid to say goodbye, afraid to embark on the next phase of my life, afraid of what awaits me in the upcoming weeks.

But maybe, just maybe there is a resolution to all of this. Perhaps if we mourn the ends of certain things appropriately, we may be better equipped to move forward with the new. I feel better admitting that I am afraid. Like finishing highschool afraid. The sort of afraid that we don't discuss.

But maybe, just maybe, we'll make it after all...

enough of talking or: someone else always says it better...

plant MAGIC dust

  expect hope doubt

    (wonder mistrust)

    despair

          and right

   where soulless our

  (with all their minds)

 eyes blindly stare

life herSelf stands

            -e e cummings


And with that, I'm all talked out.  I'm all sobbed out.  
I'm all heaving in a paper bag, between cigarettes and
gulps of diet cola, blurry visioned, want to barf-ed out.  
We're on the bus of life, and this is my stop.

july is the new september...

Which only means that maybe September won't be so cruel when she comes. I am a waltz at an autumn wedding not my own, my 3/4 time makes you stop to smell the flowers in my hair. I'm falling backwards but you're holding my hands and the room and I are both spinning. I hope to die, I take a deep breath, right there in that moment before I read the epilogue and know the ending is not what I had planned.

He told me that the reason I had never fallen in love like I expected to (the fireworks-when-we-met / can’t-think-stop-thinking-of-you-day-and-night / you’re-the-one-who-completes-me type of love) was because it didn't exist, because men like him created that illusion of love to sell pantyhose.

I still am not sure if I believe him.

the whites...

Let us not air out our dirty laundry in the world of cyberland,
Let us speak in third person so that no one will understand.
Someday we'll be old and grey, with a house upon the hill,
We'll laugh and shrug and drink our tea, questioning our will
To have made things work in times of impossible circumstance.

I love you not because you are perfect but because I am not.
I have faith in God and grace, though neither can be sought.
I mustn't miss the lesson, though it aches to learn it.
A heart can break and burn and crumble but love you still must earn it.
Lead us not into temptation in times of impossible circumstance.

To wear a heart on one's sleeve is better than none at all.
So soldiers and sons be ready when the general comes to call.
For death, taxes and love evade no man and are as inevitable as breathing.
So let love and hope and honour soothe your lips even when you are seething.
There will be an answer, even in times of impossible circumstance.

catharsis...

Tomorrow we will all wake up and this will all have been a dream. No kool-aid. No nike shoes. No stress. No drama. No diagnosis to report. We will have fallen into a long slumber and tomorrow we will wake up, knowing it's all going to be okay. We will have stopped worrying and the earth will continue its spin.

We will have all the answers. We will feel content with our questions. Nothing will go unsaid. We will go back to 'normal'. As normal as we ever were, anyways.

The end of the world will be filmed in black and white with no sound. We won't mind a bit because we will watch it together from the best seats in the house.

eleanor rigby...

She pulled over. She looked out at the sky. She threw up into the ditch. She was crying. There's no way this could be it. But it was. She was certain. She could only think in simple sentences. She put her flashers on and sat down on the side of the road. She dry heaved until every pittance of sentiment had been expunged.

She knew that she could not explain it. She now understood what it felt like to be in one of those inexplicable situations that you don't wish upon anyone else, not even your arch nemesis. It was one of those that she always said that she'd never be in. That she would never fall out of love. And here she was, on the side of the highway not only having fallen out of love but having purged every remnant of love out of her.

And then she sobbed some more. She let the tears fall sticky and heavy on her face because she hated herself and her complete inability to explain how just like that it had happened. How just like that she could no longer lie to herself or to him. She knew he wouldn't understand. He'd probably hate her for it. She already knew that she would want to call him in the middle of the night to come over to kill a spider in her bathroom and then she would beg his forgiveness and it would start all over again.

She wanted to scream but when she opened her mouth, only a whisper remained.

the horrible and the miserable or 'what kind of fuckery is this?'

I'm spending the afternoon with Woody Allen and asking myself a wide variety of neuroses-inducing questions, and they couldn't come at a better time. Needless to say I'm very conflicted at the moment and the indecision and anxiety of a middle-aged Jewish comedian who can't date anyone smarter than him makes me feel a lot better about myself.

The inner monologue that runs as the rest of the cast is on pause, this happens in my life on a daily basis. The subtitles of what someone really thinks running along the bottom of the screen, this happens only in my wildest dreams.

Nevermore have I felt luckier to be miserable in my life. "Masturbation is having sex with someone you love." How truly awful it would be to be one of the horrible cases with no hope of recovery, blind, deaf or dumb. It's much better to be miserable, to feel bad about my situation (which really isn't that bad) than to have a real cause to feel horrible about.

Love fades, it's true. But that Woody Allen, he just gets better with time.