Saturday, April 5, 2014

In Medias Res

There are three.

Much like my dear Sylvia Plath would ask, how brave are you?

1. He always said that she would land on her feet and that no matter what happened in life, she would be okay. He was right. She is okay, but okay is not the same as happy. Not happy in the way that he might think that she would be with a perfect beautiful daughter in a space that's so nice with a husband that's a good guy, with a good-guy job, and money, and food, and no more traumas (after so many traumas.) Please, don't be a dick. She knows so well that her life could have (should have?) been much worse...after all the things that she's said and done, she may deserve less (and she should be grateful, and really, since we know her so well, she is grateful, but...).  But fighting with him gave her the greatest pleasure. She loved him so unwell, although with her whole heart and she has regretted not loving him better for most of her life since then. The timing was so off that she missed the chance to say that she dearly, truly, absolutely loves him and that she's sorry that she didn't treat him better. Really, though, she's sorry that she didn't treat him the best.

And when you sit down to write a tell-all about her, please add that although she was stubborn and a huge pain in the ass (just in case no one else noticed) and that she love(d) you more than the stars and sunlight and life and air and feetinthesand/ocean and much more than fat, fat-ass kid loves cake. You were her favorite to love and fight with and she is blessed to have known you. She won't get the chance again, but this is saying goodbye for real (not in the lame 3-legged dog way that you did once.)

2. To the mentally ill but supremely lovable you....  Damn it if I haven't always (and forever) thought that I could have changed the way that you ended up, the way that you are. My narcissism and vanity is such that I (still 100% rightly) believe that if I had come to you after ECD died that we would have made the world's best celebrity crush--that we could have, would have, run the world holding hands and never looked back. [It's very possible, and maybe likely, that by this point in time, that we would have made it, and drugged it away, found it and lost it again, only to die in a similar obscurity after running through each other like two-ton-trucks on a way-too-familiar-highway each and every day of our imaginary love, but BUT, love it is and was.] And for as crazy, really and chemically and by your own will,  as you are, I do deeply love you too. I would happily lose a bit of this reality to be yours again. It would be nice if you could dive deep and give up some of those nasty dark habits--I've never liked those anyway--but, life is again, short or really fucking long depending on how you look at it, and I still love you just the (fucked up) way that you are.

3. Numero Tres (Or some sort of trifecta)

Oh, to the one that was never there. To the ghost in my imagination I love (remember that almost-time in the woods?) and like and laugh with-- the fantasy still has not relinnquished, to you, the man that I almost kissed all those years ago, that I almost challenged into being my love do you plead?  Is it all tattoos and e-cigs for you? (I, happily, have both now) or is there more? What kind of woman do you really want to "end up with"? The kind that will talk with you and be there, 100% in your face to say, "Oh wow, that sounds like 10,000 pounds of utter bullshit, Baby, come on!" or the other kind that makes nice for you and maps this neat way through all the shit of life just to come out the other side so super clean (and bored and restless and unknown)? You know it. I know it too. Time is the matter here, no? A matter of the old clock ticking all up in our grills. One more go around first, maybe two more lifetimes? Let me know when you're done with your marathons--with the barbies and e-cigs and dingbats, the vapid and meek and well-built, when will you be ready?

To the ends of this earth and into the next one.

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