Shelf Life

My weekend was filled with so much laughter that it's a good thing you can't run out of it because I would be running near or close to empty. I've proven over the past few weeks that it is quite possible to run out of tears, I also proved that here a few months ago. But laughter, I don't think you can ever have too much of it. There is pretty much nothing, other than my niece and my puppy that I love in this world more than laughter. If I could have things my way, I would bottle every moment, every single hearty laugh, every single tear I've shed from laughing, every single moment my face has hurt, my stomach has hurt and every single moment that has left me gasping-for-air-because-I-can hardly breathe laughter and arrange them on a large shelf in my bedroom, ya know for a rainy day or just for a Wednesday. I also kind of love the way that laughter is so fleeting yet so has the potential to be so lasting at the same time. If I were really good with gadgets I could probably figure out a way to make this possible. I could record my entire life, edit it out and somehow transfer these little MP3s and put them on some sort of something that is activated by the opening of the lid to said jar. It would be like a spice rack but for making yourself feel good instead of for baking or cooking or any of those things that I do not do. My spice rack includes salt, pepper basil and sometimes parsley. And cinnamon sugar, 4 jars of it.

I not only sound insane right now but I feel insane from having just written that. Go ahead, steal my brilliant idea and make millions. Just mention my name in the fine print of the patent.

Just to Get By

The good news about hitting rock bottom is that the only place to go from there is up. I woke up in tears again, for the third straight day and after coming to it from my Xanex-induced sleep coma, dreamless and restless, the way all sleep should be when you feel the way I feel, I made it to work successfully without crying on the subway for the first time all week. I call that a victory.

Today I'm surrounding myself with my favorite things, the holiday music is blaring from Pandora® and I'm enjoying a mug of half coffee half sugar free hot chocolate as I write this. I need to procure some gummy frogs, a ball of silly putty or play dough and some plastic inflatable toys (just for the smell) and I'll have enough things to get me through till 5:00 where I'll go and have grown up things like champagne and martinis, enough to make the night disappear into a haze. I'll have my favorites by my side to share in the wallow, or the jubilation as it were. I'm not ready to deal with this like a real grown-up but I have a theory about that. It's too soon to share my theories. I don't really care. I'm doing anything I can to make it, and if that means listening to "All I Want for Christmas is You" on repeat for two hours, so be it. This day too, will end and tomorrow is a new one where I can stay in bed all day in the fetal position until I've had enough. And then I'll get on the train and go make something of myself; make something new.

Geometry

The past two weeks have been painful and cut deeply, wrecking any semblance of damage control I had done unto my heart. The past two weeks have been sleepless, restless, loveless. And man, am I tired. I have a habit I cannot break, a voice I cannot speak, a love I cannot give and a heart I cannot shake. I'm stuck in the middle between what I know to be true and what I wish were true, the given, the geometry of my life. I'm caught in that crossfire between my fucking head and my bleeding heart and I wish, dear God I wish I knew the way, the answer, the road out of this mess. I cannot see a light, there is no light, none that I can see. It has gone out, the flicker that was once a roaring flame, a wildfire, has nearly gone out completely, even the wind cannot help to spread, to bold and beautify. Tell me, where is the fuel or the matches? Have we run out on this journey and most importantly where do I restock? Does it come in bulk?

I am drained of any energy I once had, of that brilliant spirit people have come to expect from me, and most specifically the laughter I once knew. It has made a grand exit and left in its place a literal puddle; water spilling over from the blue vase onto the table and down my leg. The cracks have become gaping holes that swallowed me whole, like a vortex in the deep night sky. It has sucked me dry. I am twisting and I am turning and mostly I am wanting, so much, to find the trigger or the plug whichever I stumble upon first in this seemingly endless given, the geometry of my life.

There Would Just be Love

If I could have it my way, everyday would be Saturday and 75˚ and I'd get to spend the first two hours of my day with my darling little niece snuggled on my chest as the gentle rise and fall of her little breath lulls us both to sleep, a mug of lukewarm specialty coffee resting on the couches' arm and my beautiful sister-in-law busily cooking up a hearty breakfast in the nearby kitchen; there would never be a sad goodbye and one last kiss on the forehead at the end of the weekend, a pit in my stomach and a red-eye flight back to NYC, a day spent at work missing her so much it literally hurt, a day spent at work fighting the urge to fall asleep head-first on my keyboard; there would never be a day I couldn't see her, touch her, hold her and adore here; there would never be a week spent lost in translation, lost in confusion, lost without you; there would never be snow in October or nights spent tossing and turning wondering when, if ever, you were coming home; there would never be a line to get a cab at JFK, my flight would always be on time and we would get off the plane together; there would never be just me, groggy and depressed to venture back to my tiny apartment where, my roommate and dog are already sound asleep and the lights too, have gone to sleep; there would never be a morning where I wake up and wonder why I left, where I am and why you can't be next to me; there would never be a night where I didn't talk to you before going to sleep, an entire day you didn't say my name or care when I scream yours; there would never be days on end spent at work reading text messages through tears or trying to set up a three page brochure with blurry vision from both loss of sleep and loss of love. There wouldn't be any of this, really; there would be hardly much of anything else. There would just be love.