So I sent several sparky-pissy emails to the woman I am sort of dating. Bought brilliant blue jeans and a just as brilliant orange tee. Spilled myself unto the sidewalk, walking wound up. Came home, and, still in my coat, was hunched on the end of my bed like(more) part of a cauliflower. Finally, in the middle of a movie about women machinists in the 1960s, a line about respect struck me, and I sobbed all the brilliant colors out.(less)
"...fucking scum, you know? .... Yeah, I know. But I guess I just thought that he'd..."
I had my earphones in, but the roar of the train as we hit a curve in a tunnel had overpowered the music; I'd hit pause and stared at my bag while(more) listening to this woman who could have been me, talking to someone who could have been me.
We have hit this point now, the girls I know, when being single and sexy is dull. Married friends tease that we've started to envy their reliable lives, but the thought of coming home to my husband groping a neighbor's ex-wife doesn't sound like peace to me.
On nights when I am alone, after D__ has returned to the studio to fine tune some things he was working on, or after Lindsay is done crying on my shoulder, or when I have decided to forego the game, I consider what I want.
All that I have had is plenty. If only I could now weave in into one continuous rope, her humor, his hands, the way he felt under my legs. I would keep the sweet breath of my first love, and the literary bent of my last. I would keep my job, make it full time and triple the pay; my clothes would be as clean as they are on Sunday night.
When D__ taps on my window, I let him in, and we say nothing as he crawls in the window, a joke that is getting old.
The woman here is choking back tears and she disgusts me the way I do when I look in the mirror too long, trying to find companionship in my reflection. To be both and neither: but I want to be more and stronger, to spin it. (less)
this is where i live now. not in a valley, not up on a hill. quiet and comfortable in a basement flat in a leafy neighborhood, mostly keeping to myself. every couple of days visiting the grocery down the street for provisions. every other weekend stopping in for coffee and breakf(more)ast at a favorite cafe. every few weeks wheeling my cart of soiled clothes to the laundromat, or stopping in at the hair salon for a cut. there's a library and a park and a post office all within walking distance.
there's the odd visit with an acquaintance, the occasional meal and conversation with a friend. when i'm feeling itchy, i go to a meeting to remind myself that i'm still recovering. on sunny days and cloudy days i walk the neighborhood admiring the lush gardens nurtured by the pacific northwest climate of excessive hydration. when i'm feeling energized i bike to my destination.
no tempest here: no choppy seas, no thunderstorms, no howling winds. i breathe easily and sleep soundly. there is no drama. i am not the star, and the people around me are not my supporting cast. i am not keeping score, and there is nothing to win.
the highs are lower, the lows are higher. i dwell quietly within, and there is room enough around me to grow. i am learning the secrets of my own care and feeding.
i'm standing exactly where i'm supposed to be. right in the middle.(less)
He would go in the middle of the night. That's when he awoke to leave his dorm and walk toward the foothills. Usually there were enough stray stars and a clipping of moonlight for him to find his way. He watched for shadows of coyotes or the mountain lion rumored to(more) be in the area. The hillside grasses swished against his jeans. He felt a buzz of fear and exhilaration as he walked alone toward the shadow looming at the top of the hills. Bullfrogs croaked around him as he walked. As he neared the Dish, a giant satellite dish probing for signs of life beyond earth, he felt like a child looking up at the night stars. Infinity, eons, quarks, atoms, time and reality swam through his mind as he sat at the base of the giant receiver, wondering if it was hearing something he could not. (less)