Write It

I dreamt you two yesterdays ago. It was an ordinary dream that was no less than perfect. You were standing, leaving, asking me what else I wanted from the store. I was sitting, talking, with a nameless faceless woman. A relation of yours- mother, grandmother. I am unsure. It was an informal interaction. You going to the store, asking if I wanted anything else. The three of us laughing over the patient tolerance in your voice, as if I kept adding to the list. We both had wedding rings on. You kissed me goodbye, cheek kiss. One that bespoke familiarity and future and past and permanence. I smiled. Then I woke up. I hated waking up. The moment where disorientation becomes reality effecting stabbing pains, heart side, every time.

I dream you often. It always sucks. The dreams so real, so good. The wakefulness too abrupt, so painful. I absolutely hate it.

In my mind I have the perfect reconciliation scene. My daughter tells me it's unrealistic because you just "aren't that guy". I am sure she is right. I am also a hopeless romantic who unfortunately will love you for the foreseeable future. So If I Can't Have it In Real Life- I will do what I have always done. I will write it. At least then I can read it and pretend it's true. 

Cue Words-

"Amen"

I pause and take a stabilizing breath, head bowed for a moment longer to compose myself.  After meetings are always hard. I know that I have to talk to people. I know that I have to put on a show. I know that I have to be entertaining and gracious. And I know that all I really want to do is go home and drink expensive Scotch and listen to Etta James. Going home to think about you and cry has become my Thursday night ritual. 

Head up, deep breath, go. I acknowledge the couple in front of me, saying the customary greetings. Asking the appropriate questions. Smile. Nod. Being gracious. The humm of after meeting conversation drops momentarily and curious, I turn around. My heart stops.

You have just walked in the door. Are being greeted by Max, who interrogates every male visitor he deems as a threat. You pause, smile and apply the charm you hold with precision. Recognizing the name. Listening, laughing but eyes sweeping the crowd.

I wait. Wait for the moment when your eyes find mine. In the meantime I am unable to breathe. None of it makes sense to me. I get you're here. I get why you must be here. But why are you here? I wait. You see me. 

Relief, fear, appreciation, affection- they all collide across your face. I am moving, without conscience thought and before I know it I am in front of you. I unapologetically interrupt Max mid sentence.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed. 

You smile and your dimples flash. 

"You mean Hi."

"That's not what I mean at all." I am at capacity for words and my eyes begin to burn with tears. In moments I will lose it. Eyebrow lifted, palms up, shoulder raised, I silently repeat the question using body language. 

You, understanding my meltdown loading, enfold me in a hug. 

And for the first time in months, I can breathe. Everything will be ok.

And cut.

Life's Sound Track

 Run it again...

Dewberry

3 am

I find myself coming awake in stages. Aware that I should be asleep but a persistent nagging feeling that something is off. My conscience mind trying to remember what mattered enough to wake me, what dream I was having that caused me to wake. And then I remember it's over. And then I start to cry.

I have cried consistently every night since that morning. At 3am. Clockwork. My circadian rhythm waking me to grieve you. There is no shame in my tears. Just a pragmatic leaking of pain. Sadness is a function of loss. All you can really do is sit with sad and hold it's hand and wait. As blood eventually clots tears eventually stop.   

I don't know what I thought was going to happen. I did not think that you would choose to walk away. Maybe because I thought you cared more than that. Maybe because no one ever has. I dreamt it before it happened. In my dream you text me to tell me that you didn't want to just be friends. As I was calling you to ask you what you wanted, because I was willing to give you the world, I woke up. In my wakefulness you said goodbye. 

It hurts. One part of me is really proud of you for being willing to pick a side. For not putting up with nonsense. For holding me accountable. 

Another part of me is really disappointed in you for being a quitter. For not seeing your part in the whole thing. For treating me like a game. For not apologizing. 

I went by your job on Monday, in fact. I discovered that you had the holiday off. It occurred to me that if you wanted to spend time with me you could have done so any time that weekend. And swiftly behind that realization was the idea that you didn't like me the way that I liked you. I was to you a pleasant distraction, a diversion, nothing material. Meanwhile I was naming our future children. A dichotomy of epic proportions. 

I knew I had to blow it up. I knew it was going to hurt eventually anyway so why not now. And so the rest ensued. 

I do not regret my extreme behavior. I do regret the need for it. I do regret the precipice of love from which I was jerked back. I do regret coming to see you at all. The past would have been better left in the past. I had already dealt with the loss of you once. The resurrection of the feelings that I had for you picked up where they left off, no rebuilding needed. So the loss of you, again, was magnified exponentially. Which is to say it mattered more and hurt more.

The worst part is the idea that while I am up at 3am taking a part an putting together the whole situation in one million ways; I am sure you are peacefully slumbering. Not even giving me a second thought. Toy broken, discarded, replaced. 

this hurts. 

and not even writing is making it better. 

A

Going to write

Don't forget you are a writer, go write. 

Don't forget you are a writer, go write. 

My finger itch to write the words that my brain hasn't thought yet. I know I am changing, I know I am evolving. I don't have the words for what is happening but that is not stopping it from happening. Never having been at this point in my life I do not know what to call it. I do not know what to make of it.

I know that I like it. I know that it was painful and now it's just itchy. Indication of a scar healing. I know it's going to get better. I know it's going to be amazing. I know I just have to hang on and take deep breaths and get there.

Where?

No idea. But it's happening. 

How's that for a Matrix?

A

All the feelings

I will be gone for the next 6 weeks. 

I am terrified. 

I am thrilled.

I need a travel journal. 

let's do this

A

Gifts from God

The 30th anniversary of my dedication found me in a corner in God's house, ala Hannah style, tearfully pleading for understanding and direction.  I emerged 2 hours later lighter and peaceful and with a plan. I had shed my burden and was ready to move forward. 

Less than 12 hours later I was presented with a gift. Like the best gifts it was unexpected but exactly what I needed in that moment, in this moment of my life. I didn't see it at the time. I didn't see it until today. 

The problems that I took to the figurative temple remain. If anything they have expanded, a noxious gas. Going from a manageable solid of struggle to a pervasive vapor. Yet, and yet, I can't seem to bring myself to care. To be invested. To be annoyed or even irritated. Not mildly curious, not worthy of a moment of attention- I simply don't care about them anymore. 

Because I spend too much time in my head thinking about you and smiling on the inside. Smiling on the outside. The happiness you have effected has eroded the hurt they inflicted to the point that what was once a chasm of pain is now overflowing with joy. And you're not even trying. That's how remarkable this is. With no effort you have wiped clean the hurt and left in it's place a bubble of happy. It makes no sense.

The only thing that makes sense is that you are a Gift from God. Given to sooth and make a way out. You have not changed my circumstances, not at all. But you have shifted my attention and brought me so much joy that they don't matter. 

If that's not a miracle I don't know what is. 

Philemon 4

Dewberry

Dewberry Hamster Wheel

I am bored.

I set ridiculous goals for myself.

Pleasantly surprising myself, I achieve them. 

I celebrate.

I am bored...