Missing

What happened to Michael's and my friendship sucks. It wasn't about politics. Don't get me wrong, I think his positions are crazy, but it was far more about the unsaid than the overt.

Today's writing

I never wanted a wedding. I never wanted a child. So why did I hyperventilate in the middle of Wenceslas Square? 

Being alone scares the living shit out of me. It’s like this black chasm of just … me, myself, I. And Oliver. But he’s going to die someday. And then it’s just going to be me. Unless I go first. Then he’s going to have to eat me for nourishment. That’s the way these things go. 

My pen is still tearing at the paper. I keep blinking, hoping to evoke tears, but none are coming. I’m not a crier and that fact is terribly inconvenient.

Babes in Bookland is reading Bearded Lady!

 

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Today's writing

When I crossed the bridge from Český Těšín to Cieszyn, a few steps connecting two countries, it was not lost on me that this was kind of a big deal. It wasn’t just about adding a new country to my passport (“The United States of America” the border agent hissed when I handed the blue book to him) but rather an experience that I couldn’t necessarily replicate at home. You have to stop and acknowledge these moments when they occur. We rarely do it, though. Life just shuffles us along, shunting us down the path toward the hereafter. We forget to remember.

Today's writing

Death. Quite the concept. Torture and torment – something entirely outside my experience. Seriously. I can’t compare my own life to carrying armfuls of stones back and forth in the blazing fucking sun for no other reason than to amuse a group of sadists. Never have I worried about whether I was going to be able to eat, despite barely having any money. I’ve always had enough. 

When I was growing up, I had more than enough. I really didn’t want for anything, not monetarily at least. I still thought I was miserable. I mean, I was, and with good reason. My family was completely fucked up. It still is, really. It’s just more fragmented. Everyone lives on their own or with a roommate. No one sees anyone else on a regular basis. I’m the only one who talks to everyone, and even that is relatively truncated, especially when it comes to my mother. 

Sometimes it blows my mind how alone I am in this world. 

That’s how I made it here, so maybe in some weird way I should be grateful. I had so few ties in the Bay Area that I was able to uproot my life for nearly half a year, put everything on hold. Could I have done that if I were married, or even in a serious relationship? If I had kids, or a job that mattered? 

The fact is that I have gossamer wisps for threads at home. No one’s really waiting for me, other than Oliver, and he sleeps more than anything else. I’ve sat in cafes like this one right on Piedmont Avenue, down the street from where I live, and watched as life passed me by. Metaphorically, literally, every -ly you can imagine.

Monterey

We've been in the hotel room since 4 p.m. We checked in an hour earlier and went to Cannery Row. He lasted there for maybe 15 minutes. The fireplace is on. We're watching Food Network and eating leftover Indian. I hope -- hope -- he will remember this fondly. 

Today

Parenthood is all about watching train accidents on YouTube and teaching him homespun homilies.