I said, “Hello Thursday.”
I would’ve said “good morning”, but little known fact is, I hate saying the words “good morning”. (that is, unless I’m singing that song from ‘Singin in the Rain’) Those two words put together to make the Ante Meridien greeting are my verbal avocado or smoked salmon. Nothing wrong with either. They taste just fine. But the texture…
Can’t.
and so it is, saying “good morning” feels like trying again to enjoy the taste of something that means well but feels awful. Hahaha.
Which brings me back to the beginning.
I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
But, try as I might, it seems I keep from crying as well as most infants. I swear the universe is out to get me because I was hell-bent on not crying for a couple of years. So, in my great attempts to keep the tear ducts from giving way to ‘dramatic girl-weepiness’, I’m slowly becoming a work-a-holic, keeping busy, keep writing/practising/running/moving and essentially, just altogether avoiding silence… the kind that came for a visit last night. You know, the kind you lay in bed crying to and end up taking the anti-anxiety medication, because you can hear everything pumping from your heart through your veins and back again…and it all sort of echoes a bit in your head. You hear absolutely everything except the phone going off, because it doesn’t. The sound of the TV next door is amplified. People walking outside, the cars on the highway you’ve forgotten are there… And best, you hear the sound of a breaking you swore you didn’t ever want to hear again. But there it is, right in the middle of you reiterating, “Fail. Fail. Fail.” And what’s worse is, there is no answer to the ‘why’. It just is. And so, if you’re anything like me, that’s not sufficient. So you replay everything over and over and over, trying to edit this tape and find the ‘why’. Sifting through clues, trying to understand. Trying to learn the lesson and figure out what you missed, so you can take the blame. The next thing you know, you’ve gone past the first stages of sleep and are having full-on R.E.M slideshows but you’re still.wide.awake. Who needs a scary movie?! Take a walk in my jilted mind. You can’t possibly sleep, though your bed is full of feathers, because of this awkward lump of a thing called rejection invading your space and keeping you awake. The same one who keeps dressing up like your new best friend…a blossoming friendship or a friendship restored or a relationship being brought back to life or going deeper…and sometimes even like a lover pursuing, romancing, adventuring, and moving in for a kiss that you think is real. I mean, fireworks and everything! (Seriously. Can I just say that fireworks are ace? I don’t care what anyone says. And they’ve actually happened once, and in the moment, you want to be all ‘this is velveeta cheese’, but you get over it in a quick second because, really it’s magic as sugarplum fairies dancing in children’s heads the night before a Victorian Christmas.) Right, so the kiss. Or whatever moment of intimacy happened and you’ve become vulnerable again. You let someone in. You’ve given a bit of your real self away like some priceless treasure to __fill.in.the.bank. friend.family.lover.etc.___ and you’ve meant it, and at this moment you really really care, and you don’t care how much it costs you. When suddenly you taste that horrid acidic low. Like a gorgeous piece of fruit that’s actually rotten. (if you’ve taken that bite, you know exactly the surprise letdown I mean.) And suddenly the lights come up and it’s all a ridiculous green screen. You’ve been duped again into playing a part with a ridiculously handsome imposter… And you hear this little giggle, and these arms squeeze tighter, the knife goes in and this voice sings this annoying song you’ve known forever… (like one of those stupid hits that made millions and no one ever understands why)… all to just make sure you haven’t forgotten: why on earth did you think this would be different? You’re a still a damned fool. You still mean nothing. You’re still not enough. You’re still beneath them. You’re still a novelty… and it always wears off.
[why is it so easy to believe lies? because i know better. but it feels so true.]
herein lies the struggle.
Usually the alarm clock goes off right around this time.
Cue tears.
I merged onto the highway… singing along to some Neil Young, (duuuude. I’m obsessed.) followed by some louder bluesy tunes that I could scream along to while floating on some tidal wave of guitar lushness.
And so I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
And I turned the music up a little louder, because I’m secretly hoping one day it will just swallow me whole.
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Cue Pandora's clever little hand pressing play on a song of hope...
so i'll "take this sad song and make it better."
sometimes it takes an hourly reminder that ALL of this WILL be made right.
now, miss pandora and i will dance to the kinks.
til hope floods my soul in the morning.
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