Sunday, January 4, 2015

Subterranean-Foo Fighters

And finally, it’s snowing in Chicago.  Big enough flakes that I can watch them out my open window.  Its warm in my third floor apartment.  I only turned the heat on once, and that was to test it.  BOY do I not need heat as along as I have neighbors under me that turn their heat on.  I honestly believe that my pilot light in my oven is enough to keep me and the pipes nice and toasty.  I will need a good air conditioner soon.  Especially if we skip all this winter and go right into spring.  What a strange winter it’s been too.  Not very cold, or VERY cold,  and rain. Mostly rain.  And even though there is a lot of traffic each morning I KNOW I’m not in California.

First Daughter recently gave me an assignment, to create another cd that explains Who I am.  The last time we did this as a family was more than 10 years ago.  And it was her  brother and me and Second Daughter.  A device for me to get to know the new love of my son’s life and to keep tabs on my teenage and pre-teenage children.  And also, for them to finally get to start to hear my stories as adults.  Well, now First Daughter thinks enough time has passed for us all to create the musical assignments now.  And I agree.  I know she has extended the invite to Second Daughter, but I have no idea if she has had the time to do it.  Since we still haven’t done Christmas I think I can guess she hasn’t.  Or if she invited her brother to participate.  However I am happy to report that I’m almost done with mine. I have put the songs that jumped out at me, without a listen, to be on the list.  And I’ve listened to them, and now I’m at the phase of listening to my entire music library on random to see if any ‘lost gems’ make their way to the top of the churning thoughts of my mind.

There is so much to discuss in this cd of the past ten years.  There is so much loss: Mr. Hopeful, Mr. Practical, Mr. Charisma, the death of one of us way too young.  There is so much excitement and fear, moving from a small town to a big city again.  Running from the heartache and imagined failure of that place….all the bad memories in the hopes of keeping the good ones alive.  The moved worked for that much of it.  I do have good memories now, almost a year later.

I’m trying to stay in the present with the list….and the recent past of the last year or two, but you know me, I’m sure, as solemn as this all sounds, I’ll end on a happy, and hopeful note.  Pun intended.  My heart knows no shame.  I find myself wondering exactly how much I can say here.  I know Mr. Practical doesn’t read my blog or miss me at all.  He hasn’t reached out in over three months.  The entire holidays came and went and he never once thought of me or let me know it if he did.  I can only think that he is happier with me out of his life.  And so I try to write, and if it’s not the carpal tunnel that stops me it's his memory.  I lost my biggest fan.  My editor and a friend, and I have no audience to write to anymore, so why write?  No one is listening.  And I have even thought that I should stop writing here as well.  Just let the blog go.  Forget it.  No one reads it anyway.

And then I stop and remember why I’m doing this.  Why I write.  You see I have no one to talk to.  No one to share my life with.  No one to hold me in the night, or kiss me awake in the morning.  I had that.  Many times in my life. I’m not crying in my beer here.  Just stating the obvious.  I chose to be alone, and I am.  Well, I mostly choose to be alone this time.  I picked horribly wrong for myself and its either be alone or be someone I don’t recognize anymore and well, you get the idea.

That doesn’t mean I don’t wish for the one that I still, honestly believe, should be with me.  And I know it’s only been five days since he tried to reach out and eleven days since he really reached out and chatted and told me of his heart, he even sent me a picture which he never does.  I feel like he has drifted again.  Like two boats tethered together on an increasingly choppy sea.  We struggle to keep our lines taught when necessary and slack when equally advisable, but sometimes, it’s all we can do to keep the water out of our own boats without being worried about each other.  It’s a sad metaphor for our lives apart.  And yet, I know, in the quite times of the night, when everyone else is asleep, he’s thinking of me.  I can feel it.  And that helps me to know I am not alone.  I can feel his love from a long distance.  And while I know from experience that that won’t be enough for me, it is something.  Something very powerful that keeps my demons from devouring me.  So, please, if it’s a fantasy, if it’s all in my mind, don’t tell me.  Because I don’t want to know the truth.  I think if I truly believed that I was alone, with no one that cared about me.  About what was going on in my life and want to hear the stories of my trials and tribulations, I believe I’d be depressed beyond retrieval, and as angry and jealous and bitter as I’ve ever been before.  And I don’t want to go down that road.  I’ve avoided its brambles and thorns this far, I can continue to avoid it now.

The path I’m on now seems much more sunny than that, it might have some cracks and places that need new pavement, but you know I like the rocky, woodland path more than the city one anyway.  I have to admit that the city one is great to hide in.  Excuse me, while I burrow down deep under my covers and continue to hide.