Monday, May 17, 2010

by the green light of gatsby

two of my friends make love in the other room. this is pillow talk right now--who did what to whom. this is a month divorced from what happened. this is two and a half years divorced from what should have happened. this is now. not then.

different girl. x and h cut up the relationship. these are words spoken in soft, civil tones: defined--this is mucky business. this hurts but at least it's a foundation, a truth, the reality. there is an 'i' in 'reality' but there is no 'we'.

i throw-up what i didn't eat. i wouldn't believe this was possible if i hadn't done it before. this might be because of the cigarettes or the stress or it might be life. i have no idea. throwing up, though, feels like the right decision--the only time that i feel o.k. well, that's kind of a lie. at least when i smoke i feel like i'm doing something; working towards an end.

ah, dear coitusers, what is to be done? is it better to admit a dream is dead well after the chase of that dream has ended, or is there more honor in continuing the quest in some vain hope that one day we'll run faster, stretch our arms out further... and one fine morning--so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

hallelujah

lu, of course, did not appreciate the pomp and circumstance paid to her birthday: the wine, the birthday merriment--i drew a line and did not get her a cake. i did play her the song for which she's named, and her favorite game of bitey/scratchy. she liked it, but she's two and these things happen every day.

my parents have, by and large, given up on their eldest child ever having children, and have regulated themselves to my nephew and to my cat. which was why they made such a big deal out of the party, and asked me to stay up here, in the Sota, to celebrate. most of my friends have made the leap to parenthood or are dialed into some form of raging coupledom, so perhaps this is as close to a win as i get in that regard.

i understand this time of life; i get the inevitable conclusion to have children, settle down, find somebody that makes you happy. i've always been the oldest, the one to go through most things first. it's like being the lead-off hitter in baseball: you need to let the rest of the team see the pitcher, the bite of the breaking ball, the strike-zone this particular ump has.

i'm not afraid of children so much as i am afraid of my nephew. i watch him run around and don't understand what he's doing, moreover i don't want to be responsible if or when something bad happens. i fail to understand why it takes him so long to grasp concepts that seems so easy even an infant should be able to understand it. he seems like he is the last hope for my family, and therefore should be graded to a higher standard.

i'm not afraid of all children; i love kids. my friend sel has two of the most beautiful girls in the entire world, and nelly has an infant daughter that brightens up the entire world. a friend of mine even passed along a video of her niece and nephew wishing her happy birthday--the video was better than could've been written, down to them even forgetting my friend's name.

little hallelujah is now sitting on my computer, blocking my view. she wants the comfort of chewing on my sweatshirt and the knowledge that as soon as this is done i will scratch her behind the ears--the one place her little maine coon claws fail to do a descent job. i will, and next time i'm having a rough day she'll claw her way up, into my lap, and let me pet her or cry little tears into her waterproof coat. she's a good cat like that.