why
does
2 day old cheap wine
taste better than when the cork's fresh off the bottle?
He drinks from a mug so I thought I'd give it a go. Deep breath, peppered frets echo across the almost dusk of Indian summer.
Not all of the trees have changed yet. Some are still green. Summer was abundant with moisture, FINALLY.
finally, BITCH, finally
Dreamed about a girl last night, tiny, timid, MOCKING. I can't get her face out of my head. I think I understand, finally, what she said about being able to love me and hate me at the same time. I have respect for her position in my family. I have respect for who she is to he who used to be so much to me. Still could be. Stuck. Alien. Lost his ID, a physical manifestation of what happens when he is with a woman.
I thought I'd give that a go too. Party.
Last night we shot rifles
(BULLSEYE)
(if you can believe it, truth)
and then
we found out every single peeler parlour in the city is closed on Sunday.
Bugger.
Thoughts of Bukowski and my favourite dirty old fling float not far from my memory.
Tonight we finish boys' night out. I think we should do it again for his stag.
Yup, you heard me right. His stag. We're getting married in the spring.
Donde esta Brianna? The telephone didn't work. Long distance silence, then ringing, then crackles of Hola? Bueno? Bueno?
Glitch in the planning, missing cog on the gear, broken spoke on the spinning wheel making yarn to weave the tapestry of our lives.
MARRIAGE.
[backspace] [backspace] [backspace]
Can't forget deep breaths of frangipani behind my ear. I can't find a single florist who can bring one in for my wedding. I want to wear it because it means so much to me. It is the flower that stood by me while I stumbled blindly and often drunkenly through the transition from maiden to mother. I am ready, MOTHER, I am ready.
Deep breath.
Images of little Mini-Me running after Russell in the backyard. Covered in dirt and naked. I like to roll in the dirt and grass. He likes to brush dirt spots off his pants and shirts.
I want the world to know that life is not always as it seems.
reams of tears
Tonight we're going out for titties and beers. Whiskey. I can't explain it, there's this spiraling grief for the bachelorette who used to be. I wouldn't trade what I have for anything in the world or anyone but... grief for the life that was so intense all of the time. In your face, in your world. One hand clawing at your heart, one hand caressing. One look penetrating your soul - that look went two ways. You need to know that and you never knew. You
a multitude
suitors
couldn't know
that what you said and when you said
touched my soul. I will never forget any of you. Know that. Sleep better at night for it. Or some such drivel. Do with it what you will. Hej Skoll and a bottle of Tallisker in a bath with smashed glass mugs and all that jazz. All that jazz. All that jazz. All that...
Where am I now that I throw my hands up at shit like that because... FUCK... I care too damn much to do it anymore. Care that we wake up the next morning to hold sacred in each other's arms the first breaths of morning.
Hard core softie?
Do you know what it feels like for my Dad to be our Dad? Do you? We're taking his name. Do you know how fucking shitty it feels to wonder if he'll still be around to meet the grandkids, Accident #s 1 and 2, whenever they grace us with their presence? Do you know? Do you have any fucking clue how messed up that is? How the fuck do we honour someone who has such a difficult time honouring his own sacred self or even recognizing it?
Twitch.
No.
Don't go there.
GO THERE.
Because there's nothing quite like complicated grief.
[sarcasm]
I am out of wine. Please hold while I refill my landfill. My mug is currently empty.
{hold music, ooh hold music....}
Wipe the spills with a hand towel
sweat pants and hair dye
grab a trowel
dig in the dirt to reconnect
I have a worm composter in my apartment. I have doubled or tripled my worm population in 6 months. Anyone want worms? Free or will barter for services....
Services.
Sir-viced.
Alcohol required.
City planning on the hot seat in Brainland today. Bridges for pedestrians over major roadways, connecting suburb to suburb's big box shopping hell. Pedibridge to a place so pedestrian inaccessible. Why?
Suburb where one car per person philosophy applies without enough parking and only two fucking roads out? Car unfriendly, great. Whatfuckingever. Lack of efficient and timely public transport and lack of feasible bicycle paths and lack of any planning whatsoever with respect to pedestrian accessibility. But my lawn will be greener than your lawn and my landscaper was better than yours.
Why do we need our own patches of grass?
I arrive at my mum's house and before reintroducing my old friend who gave me a lift, I am rolling in the grass and the leaves, bits stuck to my designer wool peacoat.
Why do we need our own patches of grass?
Wanna brush purple & blue suicide spike mohawk against curved roof of Belfast Avenue house for sale. Great first house, will be there when we are ready to buy. The Irish in me is sure of this luck. May even be cheaper. Close to:
everything
You read this right, first we're owning property, then we're getting married, going to school and somewhere in there is plenty of room for Accident #1 and Accident #2. Fuck planned parenthood. I've always been better at disaster planning.
Lead.
Follow.
Or, get the fuck out of my way.
Tie me down.
I have ideas, I have plans. I have so much love it brings me to my knees in tears with gratitude.
Tie me down because I am a slave to:
not
being able to find words to express gratitude where it is needed the most. How would it be received? I don't know. Fuck. Write a letter on paper, stick it in the mail... something to say hey!
HEY!
I LOVE YOU!!!
Something that screams pay attention, you're worth everything to me. But how to say that? Back to Dad. How to honour him? Why is this so fucking difficult?
Ascertation.
Assertive.
But with feelings for someone who can't or just chooses not to express... feelings gone up in smoke for 50 years... how do I teach him to feel, acknowledge the feelings and cry again?
Throwing my hands up in the air. This is my motherfucking gift, helping others realize how amazing they are. Fuck. How do I do that with someone who gave me this life? Where are the words? All I find is frustration and silence. An outburst. We stood there once screaming at each other on a street corner in a foreign city. Did he ever ask why I stuck around? Did the thought cross his mind that I was one wash my hands of this away from leaving? Did it ever cross his mind why I never left? I KNOW WHO IS INSIDE.
I know.
Scare tactics are a start. But I need to put the final nail in the proverbial coffin, extremely bad taste in proverbs notwithstanding.
What would my world look like without a Grandfather? Zero concept of paternal instinct geneologically misguided but in the right place. What does love from a man look like? When can we stop freaking out from the trauma of the first 20 years and start living for here and now? Can't we start appreciating what we have now instead of running from the past? Sure it's a leap of faith that he'll be a good Grandfather - he had no role model. None. Death by suicide, the coward's way out. Take that one step further and BE.
BE!
Who the hell are you not to believe in yourself? You believe in me and you don't even know half of me... I shelter myself because you shelter yourself. We hide behind masks and be who we think we want each other to be. Can we stop?
I LOVE YOU!
I know you feel that as deeply as I do. If only...
I felt
that were still enough.
If that were still enough....
it is. It's not. I'll explain one day.
Scare tactics. I don't have long to get explaining. Fuck. Me.
sigh.
I need to be brave. I need you to understand how important Grandfathers are. You never saw your father have the chance to be my Grandfather. I think you might be the only person who stands half a chance of understanding how bereft I feel about that.
My wine glass is empty again. I'm not sure how he'd feel coming home knowing I finished the 4/5ths full bottle of wine from the other night. I don't know if he'd be unimpressed that I'm buzzed or grateful that I thought a wine he picked was delicious after being open two days. Or if he'd have realized that I'd have drunk any liquor in the house except the nasty vodka
be
cause
the altered state of mind helped my feelings come out. I suppose counselling or a shamanic work may have done the same thing. Differently. And I wanted to write.
Helped the feelings come out.
Finish it. Finish the bottle. May as well. Or want to? Is this the point where I should stop drinking? Is this the point where fun reaches problem? I don't know.
He isn't home yet.
{laundry interlude}
I'm thinking about an ex
(can you guess which one?)
and marriage and
whiskey
Oh whiskey.
It was St. Patrick's day and I'd been stood up
but wait.
It was fall in Sydney and a girl I knew took me out to a hotel. Or we somehow ended up there and it was burbon and coke and looks exchanged into making out on the beach. Bondi. So right at the time. Finished off with a sandy shower and navel piercing, awkward smoke breaks on the sidewalk in the morning sun.
Too scared to call when we were in her city. Boys in the way? Girls on the side? I don't know.
It was St. Patrick's day and I'd been stood up. Russell had just moved and I didn't have his phone number. No dice. No dice. Friends took me out and no Guiness. I just about cried again. I settled on Irish whiskey. Not great but a good start. Get home to a fridge full of G and a game. Irish much?
Met a man on the internet and we didn't quite connect but went for a bottle of Scotch and I wanted a piano but settled for a bath. Smashed mugs on the bathroom floor and didn't get up the next morning. Ill.
Tonight a piano and scotch would be perfect. Record that shit. I don't play very well at all but you'd be crazy if you couldn't hear the feeling in what I'd play. Who even has a piano anymore? Aunt Bev. Not so comfortable drinking scotch there. But seriously. IF
IF
I could find my way into somewhere that felt 100% safe with a bottle of scotch and a piano shit... you'd hear something. You'd hear....
My favourite dirty old man fling started underneath a piano with a hug from a friend who whispered (this is yours if you want it but if you don't want to, just tell me and I promise I won't let him near you)
later
I found out she met my cousin because my favourite dirty old man fling and my cousin used to have baths with scotch to settle disputes and secretly she wanted in on their baths. First she went for him and later for my cousin. When we both had ditched him he felt a sting.
I am a sucker for scotch and pianos.
I think we're back to where we started, well placed reminisciences of ex boyfriends on the proverbial eve of marriage. Believe it or not this is a love letter. I'm sighing with resignation that it may be misinterpereted. What it is is a thank you for who you have been in my life. Who you are now. Who you will be. You are amazing and do not forget this.
I under
stand
stand underlining the meaning
I know this is a stupid thing to say. know how it feels to have someone say you're amazing but not for me. Please just be okay with that. Please just know that I respect you for who you are now and who you will become.
{please know that love is limitless}
and i wish you well and all that bullcrap that is always said
at the end
(my inspiration)
