listening to that sad bluesy song on repeat today because i can’t listen to that song when the lyrics apply to my situation because then the song would be too sad to play. i can only listen to that song when i’m happy and have determined that my happiness is going to last awhile. even in the midst of happiness that will last awhile i can feel the sadness underneath that never quite goes away, the accumulation of losses acquired over a lifetime, over lifetimes that feel long gone and never to return.
i sat in her kitchen yesterday sipping bourbon in the afternoon. i sat on the tall stool and she sat in the short chair because she is much taller than i am and we both knew that yesterday was a day to switch our accustomed perspectives.
i met a new person last night. a friend of a friend and someone i instantly liked. someone who let his mouth spill his uncensored thoughts. delirium may have been responsible for his transparency. his transparency garnered my trust. i trust the delirious uncensored transparent ones. i trust the sober storytellers.
i read a book last week whose narrator repeated the phrase, “trust me, i’m telling you stories.” books infuse the empty spaces between my thoughts where stories seed, where stories root, where my stories grow.
facebook showed me a new baby belonging to a friend that i grow closer to and apart from depending on the decade. i didn’t know he was going to be a father again. i didn’t expect to see a newborn girl in my facebook feed this morning. surprises keep rolling in and over me. i’m waiting to surprise myself in ways i can’t yet imagine since i most frequently surprise myself with choices that take me right back to where i’ve been before.
i’m leaving town this weekend because her birthday is sunday. some year i’ll be able to stay in town without hoping to see her on that day. i’ll land in a town 1,200 miles from home to hold the little girls that i love as much as i loved her little boys i once held.
i get up and walk into the kitchen, turn around and walk back to the office, get up and walk into the kitchen, turn around and walk back to the office because there is no greasy salty spicy fried chicken in the kitchen. there is never greasy salty spicy fried chicken in that kitchen not because i can’t fry a frickin’ chicken but because as much as i crave it, i won’t let myself eat it. rice cakes, greek yogurt, and raw almonds are shabby substitutes for fried chicken, but they keep my barely managed eating disordered self-hate in check…which counts for more than a fried chicken craving.
yesterday she learned the difference between good enough boots and good boots. we call that wisdom. i knew she’d get there if i gave her space to choose, trusting her to choose wisely.
grandmas die. babies are born. people fall in love. people fall out of love. my happiness is lasting because this present version of in love won’t fall out.