The problem with working from home is that you’re never really off. There’s always something you can be doing, so it’s hard to detach and just relax. The days of the week lose their meaning. I haven’t had a vacation in about a year, and I’ve been at home almost that whole time. It’s left me feeling burned out. Lisa and I are both going through the same thing at this point in our lives, and we’re trying to figure out how to pick ourselves up from problems that seem insurmountable when we’re living them by ourselves.
But baby steps first, and today was back to a greasy breakfast. I watched The English Patient, cause I’ve been in the mood for epics lately, and I’d been denying myself the pleasure for too long. I discovered the part I used to place my kisses is called the suprasternal notch. Now I wonder if she ever sees the English Patient, whether she’ll think I just stole some idea from some movie, or whether she’ll remember and gently finger the valley my lips claimed as their own.
At the end of these movies, I always feel a mixture of emotions, the same when stepping out of the Shakespearean plays I saw in high school: dejected from all the tragedy, yet amazed by such profound performances and productions. It was the same after I finished reading Doctor Zhivago. Maybe cause I identify with the poet-warriors, the themes of their love, the depths of their emotions, and the trappings of their fate. No matter what the emotion is though, it makes me sit in the dark and write about things the way I used to.
And that’s enough for now.
trying new foods with my Uncle Joe and the fascination I used to have for Six Feet Under and being able to sleep more than four continuous hours and guitar lessons and the sound girls make when you squeeze them just right and the idea of camping but not the actual act and remembering how to play Sunny Road and Trolley and Steph already and snow and people-watching when taking the bus and long-term relationships and
these kind of moments before we all partake and
the smell of rain in Paris and makeouts and knowing what to say to people when they ask me how I’m doing and being led by the hand to the bedroom and being called Jeffy Bear and having a reason to wear Classic by Banana Republic and getting really excited and being pursued by someone I’m not trying to avoid and the time in my life before all this medication and having someone I could call my best friend and cuddling and walks and old /b/ and Bruce Springstein before he went rock and no one I shouldn’t and having a Tai Chi teacher and
little bums like this and
knowing how to play piano and pouncing on survivors with Dave and Tyler and having a stable source of income and being part of her life and having her in mine and Hawaiian sunsets and finding sales for clothes that fit me and playing songs for Antje and the intimacy of oral and simultaneous orgasms and sex, obviously and having someone to spoil and new episodes of Reno 911 and hosting big parties and the way Leonard would sleep on my neck.
You must be saving the world as I write this, making it a better place for the ones like me who never seem to care enough to make a difference. Aside from the easy things like recycling and saving my laundry for large batches, of course, but that’s what you’d consider bare minimum, and it always felt like you used something like that as excuse to keep us at a distance.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never felt as in the way as when I was with you. It hurt to think I was only slowing you down, when I’d already planned so much. There were more shots to take, more cheeks to pinch, and parts of the world to explore together.
I know you needed a fighter to match your heart, but that’s not why I challenged you. Not cause I was a skeptic either, but because I wanted to be convinced. I wanted to be educated. I wanted you to change every preconceived notion I had of agriculture and corporate farming and sustainable growth with strong arguments and sound logic. But instead, you mistook it as apathy and conflict, and just gave up.
That’s why I wonder why you tried to kiss me last time, when things had already fallen apart. And whether I should have turned around; if you would have seen you getting in your car and driving off, or whether you would have lingered to see me wave through the glass. But I couldn’t look back, cause I’d had enough of you having enough of me.
The only things you left me with were a huge purple bruise and three songs in my collection, but I still need to thank you for something rich and fulfilling. Something that made me stronger, cause you were the only person to ever call them beauty marks, the only one to truly make me feel important and desirable and validated.
That’s probably why I think of leaving something in the Dropbox folder to find one day. Something sweet and nice and completely hopeless. But I realize it’s not cause I still like you. It’s cause I miss the idea of liking you, the idea of having something other than all this misspent love.
It’s been another crazy week. Between the appointments and the hangouts, I haven’t had a night to myself.
One thing I wish I had more time to appreciate is the weather. The most recent blizzard draped the city in snow wet and heavy, and all I want to do now is go out and shoot with a nice piece of glass that goes wider than f/2.8. I keep promising myself I’ll do it next snowfall, but life always seems to get in the way.
The overstimulation has left me with my guard down, and I’m stuck in my memories again. Left remembering old conversations, nights lost to the senses, and my regret at not mentioning how much I liked those nails done up in white and nude.
It’s not my fault. Honest. I get pulled into it in the most innocent ways. That song will come over the tinny speakers in the produce department when I’m picking out tomatoes. Or I’ll be on the 12 home, going through random songs in my collection to try out my new monitors, when I catch someone sharing what I always saved for us.
I’m starting to understand how helpless I am to change the past, but at the very least, I can change myself. And that’s often good enough nowadays.