Broken Glass

I was on the floor, I think I was in and out of sleep while you talked on the phone. One person after the next, making plans for the month you would be home, almost all of your friends were women, which has never been the case.  I sleepily came to, as it seemed you were preparing to leave. I asked a few questions, like "Who are you seeing?"  "When do you leave again?"  "Will we have some time?"  and you answered them quickly, a name I didn't know, a month, of course.
You were putting on your jacket. I knew it was cold out.
We gave eachother a hug as you said goodbye and walked out the door.
I looked at the floor
odd colored broken glass fragments, I wanted to warn you to be careful. I followed you out into the drive way which looked like my Dad's in Minnetonka though it was not his house. It was snowing, dark, the streets were covered and other than the glass in my hand biting into my flesh it was calm and peaceful, cold, biting. You had already driven off with the girl I didn't know.  I decided to text you to be careful, both of the glass and the conditions of the road.
I sent a text, I have no idea what it said, but as I approached the door someone else had gotten home.
They locked it in front of me. I had the key but I was annoyed that they didn't realize I was outside.
The roommate understood but his guest didn't know me, so it seemed like I was barging in and mean.
I was explaining to them about the broken glass when you sent a text back.
It wasn't meant for me,
it was inappropriate, blurry, you were wearing blue underwear, I didn't recognize the guy, but obviously not meant for me.
Then I wondered about the camera angle and realized you hadn't taken the picture.
I was angry, concerned,
I woke up.

yes and no

I am feeling quite selfish right now. Its not coming out in the younger version of me way of things, its more like a desire to sit still and do nothing. A younger me would say fuck you.  This version of me, just wants you to be the way you are, and let me be the same.

Its a really bad time for selfishness, there are two hateful amendments coming up, and an election that could swing the country back the wrong direction, I've got family and friends who I am not supporting and who could probably use some contact.

I've got shit to do, some work related things I have dropped the ball on, some goals I will not reach without effort.

but I just want to sit in  a warm spot and listen to music or be entertained by something. Be passive, be soothed. 

There isn't anything wrong with me.  I am not sick, not really sad or depressed, not necessarily pessimistic.  Just want to be a lizard in the sun.  

The shoulds

I should be volunteering right now.
I should be writing blog posts about voting No, and updating facebook, and I will wish I had if we lose in this election.
I should be watching the movies I need to watch for school.
I should be looking into what classes I will take tomorrow.
I should be writing Illy back, because she was nice enough to write me. 
I should not be thinking about the 2-3 things I have wanted to write about lately.
I should be updating that people text, I said I was going to rewrite.
I should be reading a book, and hanging out with a friend, and thinking about the future in a more positive way. 
I should be making the time to support people in need. 
I should be working on some media projects, and I should be texting some folks back about next week.
I shouldn't be thinking about Diplomacy or how I want to escape into fantasy books.
I should be thinking about how to adapt curriculum to meet my students needs.
I should be writing about my Grandma's passing.
I shouldn't be so afraid.
I should be seeking out new relationships. I should hang out with Aleks, Emily and Julene some time, since today was fun.
I should be volunteering right now. I should volunteer on Sat, Sun and Monday.
I should prepare a costume for next Thursday and Sat. 
I shouldn't be thinking about sex, about being bad at it, after all I am not actually practicing.
I should be preparing a trip to South America.
I should be planning on how to make it meaningful.
I should stop. 

I think this is my normal reaction to grief.
Maybe, either that or I am getting sick, or super stressed and just don't know it. Maybe I am being poisoned...

anyway, I have been wanting to do more writing, but I can barely think lately.
so... soonish?

there are some folks I want to talk to and get back to... but that will have to wait.

farewell

Grandma died yesterday around 3:30 AM. I had been in the room about 4.5 hours previous, and she looked like a breathing corpse.  My mom was there, perhaps my little brother too.
I didn't cry till yesterday afternoon when we moved her stuff out of the room at the nursing home. Something so final about it all.
On the way home the idea that she no longer had "stuff" moved me to tears.
This is a woman, who I had defined in my head as being paired with "stuff"
I will probably write about that more at some point...
but today I feel brain dead and cold.
Is there something wrong lex?

There are may hard things going on. I don't know how to be there for everyone right now.
I think I am going to go take a nap.

on death and grieving

Been reading a lot of Kahlil Gibran

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

My Grandma is dying, has been for 92 years I suppose, but mostly these last few days, weeks, months and years.  Most nights this week I heard her breathing and thought how easily each breath could be the last. 

But my heart cries more easily for a friend.  A friend I write to regularly and never send anything... because each word casually morphs into a stab conceived from deep within my hurting.
I was looking at pictures tonight. I have no pictures of my grandma, but the photo albums on my shelves and pictures on my wall have my friend on each page. A hundred looks, smiles, laughter, insights, nights when life felt great because in our suffering we weren't alone, and nights when life felt greater because in our joy... 
I shared my humanity with this friend, like no other friend, yet now each of us feels betrayed. 
 and I can't find in my heart the strength to start over, to forgive, or even to be vulnerable and it hurts me more, because I know I am trying to stay strong so I don't just fall over and fail...so I don't get eaten alive, don't submit to manipulation and abuse, stay aware and responsible,    but to be strong is to be open, 
and I am failing all the same. 

and it brings up all my other failures, the pictures in the book. The lost friends, or the ones I am too hard to let in. Each picture a joy in my heart, and a stab also. and another stab because tomorrow I will remember the pain and not the joy as I struggle through how to make life just a little more sane.
 I once thought I could be everything to everyone, and now wonder if I can be anything at all, or if my purpose will be to casually whittle myself away, like the flesh on my Grandma's arms, like her sunken cheeks, like her hollow eyes, and vacant breaths.

My mother brought up her brilliance tonight, an insight from my friend, that allowed her to connect with my grandma these past few months even through the dementia.  An insight from a friend of mine she barely knew, and here she is on my grandma's death bed telling the nurse, of a gift, from my friend who I can't even talk to, because every time I want to make peace I end up tasting bile and grinding my teeth.

and each time I look at my grandma's open mouth, dry lips, dark and fragile hands, her boney arms leading back to such tiny breakable frame, I wonder who would hold my hand as I slip away, battered and bruised, broken and tormented, would anyone cry or would they like I, whisper wishes of quick goodbyes under their breath when no one is looking...  and if it were my friend, would I ever forgive myself for this time wasted? 

and the answer is of course no, but through tears I still cant taste forgiveness.

from peoples' mouths I have heard deeply meant affirmations of my character, but most days I can't tell if my optimism is based on an expanding worldview, or a diminished one. 

My grandma has become blind, but this week she saw paintings, sculptures and visions. She described them and I couldn't comprehend their beauty. 
She didn't know me this week, but she never really knew me.  
As I approached she asked me if she had offended me, and I wondered if she meant it.
If in my fear I had given her cause to believe that she had hurt me.
and I assured her no, but I wonder if I meant it.

Sometimes I go over the records of my relationships, to find some valid substantial reason for the great surging depths of my feelings, and sometimes I find it, and it leaves me even more humbled, feeling more blessed, and sometimes more lost than ever.