An infinite number of monkeys will eventually create ... me
when I turn around
I'm out of my control
I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I miss you. I hope you are are doing well, and that you aren't having any Colitis symptoms.
Minnie and Tyrone miss you too.
It has been almost 15 months since you died. Seems like a lifetime ago. And yet, I still have crying meltdowns periodically.
Like last night. Did I spend too much time at work? Did I spend too much time traveling? Did I spend enough time holding your hand? Did I tell you I loved you enough times?
Just in case I didn’t: I love you, Jeanne.
So, take my love...take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
and if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills...
well the landslide will bring it down
It's funny what makes me think of you.
I have been spending a lot of time in the city lately. I take the BART in, and usually get off either at Embarcadero or Montgomery. Just like the old days.
I remember what annoyed you in the stations -- why do people stand on the left side of the escalator? Either walk, or get out of the way! It used to make you so mad. Almost funny -- you'd practically stamp your feet, in those little strappy high heel sandals you usually wore. And then you'd get the heel caught in a groove, and be simultaneously annoyed and laughing.
So, I walked up the stairs from Montgomery today, and as I did, I smelled that weird cinnamon bun place, and could hear you saying "yum!" and licking your lips with that mischievous grin on your face. And I never knew if the grin was because you were pretending to be a little girl… or because you loved the double entendre of licking your lips.
And the pain hit me in the chest like a brick. Suddenly, my lungs tightened up and I couldn't breathe.
You are, indeed, still dead. And that still sucks.
That awareness isn't with me all the time now, just sometimes. But this time, just now, recently, it's been so hard. As I said, it hit me like a blow to the chest. It hit me... well... like they did. And I felt as weak, small, and powerless again. Just like I did when they used to hit me.
Somewhere, you are probably annoyed with me for being such a whiner.
And, now that I think about it, it's possible that the tightness of breath was a side effect of me climbing the stairs and not having enough cardio exercise these days. Definitely need to use the elliptical more…
But I don't think that is what it was.
Anyway, after catching my breath, I emerged into the city. I got to my errand early, and had some time to kill. So, I am sitting outside the Tully's where you and I used to get coffee in the mornings. Well, you'd get tea, with a ridiculous amount of milk and sugar. And two tea bags. Gross. Anyway. The place hasn't changed much. I see a similar set of men in suits looking miserable. Wonder if they work on the 20th floor upstairs? And I see a set of about 5 deaf people -- wonder if it's the same set we used to see? You would always ask me if I could read what they were saying, and I would always tell you that my ASL wasn't good enough anymore -- too rusty. And I didn't want to watch them sign for too long, because I didn't want them to think I was staring.
No, I still can't follow their conversation, just a snippet here or there.
I wonder if you can read the signs yourself, now?
For a man to be truly happy, you have to live entirely in the moment.
Not obsessing on the future or the past, in the present.
And you've been obsessing on the past a lot over the last few days.
--Mr. Linderman, Heroes.
I am sitting in the basement under our old office. I wonder if I can hop on the wireless network from our ex-employer and use it to post this? I doubt it -- CarPoolPal set it up, and I doubt he would have been so sloppy. But I am tempted...
It's lovely here today. Sunny, not too hot, not too cold. Most un-city-like. I stood on a street corner, looking down the hill at the bay bridge and the Oakland port in the distance. It's so clear that they look very close, and very pretty. The city doesn't smell, and I am wearing sunglasses. Very weird. Doesn't match my mood at all.
Of course, listening to Marilyn Manson on my iPhone is probably not the best idea just now, either...
You used to get very pissed when I listened to “yuck” music. Sorry, I still do it sometimes.
But my default ring on my phone is Greg Allman’s “I’m no Angel”. Not depressing at all.
Come on baby
Come and let me show you my tattoo
Let me drive you crazy
Poor SL. She has to listen to me talk about you. You’d have liked her. When I wallow, it annoys her too! Anyway, we were talking about you the other night. I was bummed out, on myself, as usual, worrying that I didn’t do enough for you before you left.
I can’t entirely remember what your voice sounded like anymore, baby. Your mom says you have visited her in dreams a few times. I wonder why you have never visited me?
Anyway, SL told me that you didn't leave me. Instead, she said I left you. At first, I was crushed by this. I didn’t want to be a leaver. I didn’t want to be the one who bailed, who failed, who sailed off into the sunset. Then I realized that I am going on, day by day; I am moving.
You are something else. I don't know what. But you aren't moving in the same way I am.
Thus, in a way, I did leave you. But you never left me. Thank you.
How's the view in the Desert? Do you still like it? I hope you can see the city lights, and the cactus. I like the cactus. I know you like the heat and the sun. Sorry I couldn't get you a mister. If I can figure it out, I will.
I know you worried about being replaced. I didn't replace you. I don't know how to do so. I just wish I didn't cry so much. I wish I were stronger.
all the people that you made in your image
see them starving on their feet
'cause they don't get enough to eat
I think there is some nonsense about stages of healing or whatever. I don’t really understand. I accept that you are dead. I’ve seen your ashes. I’ve scattered your ashes. I’ve given your jewelry away. I’ve told people about my love who moved on.
But I find myself angry periodically. And I think that’s an early stage. So the stage theory doesn’t work for me.
I'm really angry about your family, and that stupid headstone they made, and that you had to go. It's not fair. The dude with the hairy back is still here. The same moron is still running the country. It's slowly drying out in New Orleans.
Bad things should happen to bad people. Not to you.
I’m sorry that I’m still angry. I’m sorry that I left you. Thank you for not leaving me.
Thanks for sitting on my shoulder, and pull on my earrings a bit harder the next time I’m making a bad decision, ok?
Take care, my love.