Go away.
That is all.
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“Comes a time,” she said, “when you just accept that you’re alone.” She let her fingers trace wide circles through the condensation on the table. It was one of those southern nights so muggy that even the mosquitoes took the evening off. Shirts clung to chests heavy with the sweat of the day’s work, bras clung to breasts like paper maché. Strands of hair were pasted about her bare neck and shoulders, but any seduction of the moment was off put by the harsh, low-hanging bulb overhead. It made it all feel so…dirty. Raw. Real. “See, that’s what holds you back. In your heart you realize it, and you worry and worry, cause your head’s afraid you’ll end up alone if you don’t keep at it. Well baby,” cold, the dregs. fitting. “you about alone as alone can get, and I ain’t gonna sit here and say otherwise.” What could he say? He knew she was right, and yet, wanted so badly for her to be wrong. No, that wasn’t correct. He knew he shouldn’t want to accept it. This girl was, after all, telling him that his entire life had ended up a sham built on a foundation of matchsticks. But what was it that he felt instead? Surely not joy. No, that one jumped ship long ago. It never felt good to come to crushing realizations about one’s life, but there was a sort of…liberation. Maybe that was the best word for it. A sense of liberation that could only come from accepting the inevitable. Choo-choo, baby. Train a comin, train a comin. No sense runnin, they a train a comin. He watched her stare at the cup, mesmerized. Could this conversation really be so bad that the inky black shit in that cup was better than its continuation? Why had he called her anyways? He was low, but god damn, had he really been that low? Comfort certainly wasn’t what he expected from her. Maybe he needed her harsh realities. Maybe he needed her to tell him what he already knew. What he wanted though, was those lips. Finally, she looked up at him, head tilted in that determinately inquisitive sort of way that only a woman could accomplish. “And once you realize that, then there’s nothing left for them to take away.” She slid the coffee cup out of the way and folded both arms atop the table. “It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to realize, but once you do, there ain’t no stoppin’ you. And there ain’t no going back.” Those muggy nights, they cloud your mind too. They make you see things that just aren’t true. Well, at least they shouldn’t be. But it’s easier to think on the unthinkable when your view of everything is askew in hazy fog; when you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you clearly for what you are. He figured he was going to have this girl tonight. Have her again and again until he was sure he could have her no more. He knew she was right, and what better way to show her that he understood than making her his own object lesson. He smiled; it was way too easy to get used to this. Maybe he hadn’t needed her advice after all. The smallest thread of air was all it took to slide the coffee cup back across the table, and he caught it deftly in his open left hand. A week ago, he would have flung that cup across the room and into, hell, maybe even through, the short-order cook–he was getting better. He finished the coffee in one gulp, even though he had to contain a grimace. It seemed even he wasn’t immune to everything.
“All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.” -K. Vonnegut
Maybe its the sense of entitlement. Maybe its an element of danger. All I’m sure of is that I want to know her story, and who knows, maybe if I keep looking up, we’ll meet one day. Caught myself googling an old girlfriend tonight without ever really realizing what I was doing until I was on page six or so. Isn’t it funny how something (in this case, another person) can be so etched into our sense of self that we can still get caught up in it months… years…. after the fact? Day dreaming, I suppose, and phantom limbs with cognizant digits. Anyways, this Vonnegut quote came to mind, so I think I’m going to retire to bed and read a little Cat’s Cradle. Just something about Vonnegut that makes the world feel less lonely. “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”-Kurt Vonnegut I didn’t get to watch the inauguration yesterday because every site with streaming video was completely overwhelmed with Obamania. I’m really not sure who thought that streaming coverage of the event in HD was a smart decision, but that’s a topic for another day… I was however able to load up Hulu’s coverage shortly after the speech and caught this great little gem from Chris Wallace, host of “Fox News Sunday” regarding Justice Roberts’ goof: This might be some of the most jaw-dropping, inconceivable drivel I’ve ever heard on Fox News, and it was said in complete seriousness. There’s no joke here, no punchline. This was an actual discussion point between two Fox News talking heads on LIVE TELEVISION. What bothers me most about that video, and Fox News in general, is how an entity with such influence over the American people and such potential could present something like this in full confidence of the truth. Of course, assuming that Chris Wallace has an understanding of politics or the constitution might be a stretch. In that case, it is unfortunate that a broadcasting company could let such an ignorant and misinformed hack present the news.
Mr. Wallace, you ignorant piece of trash, here’s a little refresher for you on the Twentieth Ammendment:
So, while you were debating President Obama’s authenticity an hour after the inauguration took place, the real media (everyone else) had moved on to bigger and better things, and unfortunately for you, there is no delaying the inevitable. At 12:00pm yesterday, Barack Hussein Obama became the 44th President of the United States, goof or no goof. Say it with me now…President Obama…. President Obama…President Obama. It might hurt a little, but admission is the first step of recovery. Misinformation and downright lies. Par the course for Fox News and its team of “experts”. In the spirit of Tuesday, here’s a little something to make all you nerds chuckle.
Have to say… I don’t think I’ve ever see a more beautiful end tag. Oh! PS - Now that I’m sure the random image header is working, I’m thinking about what to put up there. The test images will be gone soon. Doing a little blog work: upgrading to Wordpress 2.7, checking out a new theme, and customizing. May not get a whole lot done… feel particularly awful today. There’s something about the new year that always leaves me awestruck. The way one year can seamlessly pass away into something entirely new and yet decisively familiar is nothing short of magic. I don’t know, maybe its one of those things that’s too hard to form and explain outside of your own head, but with just one clunk, one blip, a single tick, the counter on our lives can be reset. A new beginning–a fresh start. Well, to be fair, it seems that way at least. It’s funny, and perhaps this is one of the reasons why I find it so fascinating, but without us–without the association that we give, January 1st is just another day that means absolutely nothing. Nothing spectacular happens. No vestige of the divine settles down upon the Earth and rights everything that’s turned foul. The sun rises, the sun sets. Life and death go on in one fluidly reciprocal motion. But add us to the equation, and you’ve suddenly got parties in Times Square, a kiss from a stranger, a short spurt of bliss and revelry. We celebrate the new year like we celebrate new life; we give it reverence, we look upon it with hope. Only the human race could take something so mundane as rotation of our planet and glorify it almost to the point of deification (how many more people pledge resolutions to no one than offer up prayer to Heaven?). I guess it could be argued that magic of the new year…is us. When I arrived home that December evening, Callie greeted me on the porch in bare feet. She was excited…no, ecstatic about something, and I could see it beyond that smile she was trying to hide behind a pink and white scarf she’d gotten for Christmas several days earlier. She held a printout from our computer and hoisted it up as if for me to read, but excitement coupled with her cold-toe concrete shuffle made recognition difficult. “Come on, sweetheart,” I said, and hoisted her across the threshold and down onto the couch with a soft thwump. The paper she held was a confirmation from the ‘Happy Mountain Travel Lodge company’ of our apparent impending stay. A cartoon raccoon strutted across the top of the page holding a key in his mouth. He had a big, fat, none to raccoonish grin on his face that just seemed to scream, come on, I dare you to not have a good time. Under him trailed the company logo, letters made out of oddly shaped twigs and branches: Where good times meet the great outdoors. I looked over at Callie, hiding from her my opinion that the slimy, salesman-looking raccoon was a most terrible advertising technique, and wondered just kind of crazy had infiltrated my home. What she’d done, she explained, was decide that this new year would be different, a break from tradition and celebration–something to be remembered. After all, it was our 15th wedding anniversary, and from me to you (guys…take note), when your wife takes the time to plan out a special occasion you better damn well be ready to go along every step of the way, whether that means tango classes or birthday parties or anything in between. (I’m serious men, it would be advantageous of you to remember that). I’ve always been a sap for sanctimonious celebration anyway, so Callie didn’t have to try quite as hard as she might have to make me excited about the trip she had planned for our new year together. Four days and three nights in a cabin in the mountains, within traveling distance to a shopping district (for her) and popular ski resort (for me). She tossed a small red and white stripped paper bag at me and with this perfectly mischievous look in her eyes as she said, “three nights…with no kids…and a jacuzzi.” (Again, gentlemen… notice the practical application of cause and effect here. Cause: willing acceptance and excited anticipation of wife’s anniversary plans. Effect: Wife goes shopping for things so small that they might be forever lost in a rogue wash cycle.) We made preparations to leave the kids with their grandparents and began the ceremonial act of packing bags. In all our years together, we worked it down to a science: I did the heavy lifting from the attic and into the car, and beyond that, I stayed out of the way. I think my biggest problem with packing is that I’m always over prepared. First aid kit for hiking injuries, sewing kit for clothing malfunctions, skis, ski clothes, ski hats, ski gloves, ski wax, more ski gloves, emergency food supply (complete with propane stove and instant hot water heater)… the list would go on and on and on as long as I could find new places to jam things. This, of course, drove my wife insane. So we agreed, I pack things in and out, and just be surprised at what I find inside when we get there. You know, looking back on it all and how excited we were that night, I’m hit with a tinge of regret. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into by going on that trip, no idea of what was to come. How could I have? How could she? How could we have known that our trip to the Happy Lodge on Hell Mountain or whatever it was called would be anything but wonderful? Where or what can I put the blame for all that happened out there? On myself for not being strong enough to hold out? On God (which I’m not sure even exists anymore) who would turn his back on his children? I’ve had plenty of time now to think on it, plenty of time to neglect and resuscitate all those decaying feelings, but I think those few days in the mountains might be my “one thing” that I’ll always have on my mind and will never be able to truly move past. “One thing”… that was something Callie coined when we were dating. Everyone has one thing, she’d tell me, that will always stick with them until their grave, one thing that they owe themselves to never, ever forget. I thought for the longest time, no–hoped, that I would never top abortion at 15, but what happened in those mountains–what I did, the sin of mankind could not stand against… No reason to get excited -Bob Dylan, “All Along the Watchtower” …has solidified. I’m going down to the Smokey Mountains to geocache for a couple days. Beautiful country, friendly people, awesome hiking, and 90 geocaches in a ~10mi radius. Hopefully taking a camera as well, so if I can figure out how to use it, I’ll take some pictures of the scenery and throw something up if I can find wi-fi (which I’m pretty sure I will, hard part will be finding it free gratis). I’ll probably try to do some writing too, so maybe I can post that as well (again…wi-fi). I had an interesting idea this morning in the shower, we’ll see if I still like it tomorrow (best ideas… most innopportune times). I honestly don’t think I can imagine a better way to spend the holiday. If I don’t come home, I probably got eaten by a grizz. (Points if you caught the Deadwood reference) |
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