so this morning i did the thing ive always wanted to do with a girl.
no, not anal.
in bed, upon waking up to the early morning sun shining through the window...i took my flimsy blanket and pulled it over both of our heads. as we were illuminated by the blanket-filtered sunrays, face to face we kissed, caressed, and smiled in the refuge of pseudo privacy underneath the thin veil of fabric. it was romantic in a cinematic sense. something that probably wont work again, but will forever be a little spark of happiness to reflect on for the rest of my life as one of the good moments.
and as people stop coming over, and the condolences dwindle, all that remain are the memories...back into a routine that's not so routine as it once was. and the uncanny haze of shock lifts and becomes my reality...and thats the hardest part...i dont have a father anymore.
the longest/shortest two weeks of my life, and im supposed to continue on...but i cant as i have been...whatever little innocence reserved in this 32 year old psyche passed away with him...and where did he go?...are we just brain synapses firing until we can't fire off anymore?...are we simple organic beings that expire and fall like the petal from the flower?
my whole life this man took care of me, and now he is no longer...its like starting life all over, but from a very shitty low...lost direction, no direction...a helpless newborn all over again
and they say it gets better with time, but i dont want it to get better...i want to pain for him forever, as freshly as it hurts now...i dont want the pain to subside, i dont want him to subside within me
everyone doesnt grow old and die in their twilight years...and its unfair that people are walking around, still having their dad when i cant have mine
but what is fair about this whole thing? even the flowers sent to celebrate his life are now dying...and petals do fall from the flower, all the time.
i miss him, and i wish he didnt have to go.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
the sad song that i had eternally tied to your memory has suddenly, and abruptly, lost its sting when i heard it today.
and that is probably sadder than the song, or the distant memory of you that the song inspires, itself.
the first one mattered to some extent the second one mattered to a lesser extent and each one after, i could give a shit.
and such is the story of dating in your thirties.
its a weird time for me right now. single. which can be great.
PROS: - there's no one to answer to - there's no one to consider - there's no one to argue with - there's no one to hurt over
CONS: - there's no one.
its been 3 and a half years since my last relationship, and its the longest break ive had in my dating career. and it makes me wonder, will i ever be able to fall back into it again?
it seems that at 32 years of age, im no longer nomadic: in action or thought. its a settling down. an acceptance of your life as it is, and as its going to be...from here on out. and that is the scariest fucking thing to me.
im settled in my ways, i do what i want, im a creature of habit, and change is intimidating at this juncture in life. it seems like a recipe for staying stagnant...and single. im slowly realizing im the old guy at the bar. not the OLDEST guy, but the old guy amongst youthful people. let me explain:
at the bar theres two kinds of people. young people and people over-50. the young people are on the upward swing: the patrons of the bar who are discovering themselves, their social lives, and roofies. The over-50 crowd are the ones who failed at a life and have no one, and nothing to go home to...the downward swing. And are most likely the roofie-ers.
somewhere between 30 and 50 there is an attempt at a 'normal' life...a bar-less life...a stable, settled-down life. generally speaking everyone at the bar can fit into the two catagories. (Unless the name of the place is "Shabooms" or "The Wrinkle Room" but thats a whole 'nother blog entry.)
im finding myself to be one of the anomalies, bleeding out of my respected catagory and into the age of plateau (between 30-50) except my high plain is desolate, dusty, deserted. no children, no wifey, no lifey.
and sitting here writing this, on the high plain that is my desk, i see: a charles bukowski book, a subway sandwich wrapper, an empty bottle of 5 dollar vodka, a razor and a can of shaving cream, and a half empty bottle of cologne.
look at my desk and what can you surmise about me?
im not a beastie boy...and im no eastwood, either.
