I’m missing it a bit lately…those halcyon days – and nights – of sonambolism. There is too much going on and I cannot seem to find enough rest. It’s all foolishness, of course. I’ve a ton of guilt, anger, and sadness going on about how I left my finely carved body behind in GA so many months ago. I had forgotten that mental exercise wheel where you constantly hear the echo of the self-loathing. “Doesn’t fit…what’s it matter…who cares…fuck em all…God, you look like shit…” I think men must not have it or maybe their inner voice says something different.
I should have been upstairs getting back on track tonight. Instead, I had to play catchup on work which ate into the grocery shopping time which then trounced all over the exercise hour until I came home hungry, tired and utterly sick of email inboxes, meeting requests and the like.
Oh, yes – it’s a lovely rationalization! I know it. I am quite clear on that point. But…I wonder, distantly, if that dark melancholy is reaching out again. I address the matter rather scientifically rather than emotionally, now. I question myself – is it real or is it just the rainy weather? Is it the music or the endorphin loss? Am I dwelling and drawing it in or just eyeing it on the horizon? And I do ache to feed it, of course.
I am a natural depressive. Never sought out the speed, never the hyper. No, that was not my bane. No, it was the slow…the dulled and the quiet that I sought out. Mindlessness wherein there was no pain or worry. And perhaps that is it – too many concerns right now and I am trying to wend my way back to that womblike security. Hmm. Well, regardless, it’s not possible. Not only is it Not Allowed, I don’t think I shall give in to it anymore. It is a weakness. Not only physical and mental but also of character.
But then…maybe it was the carnage of Tuesday…as a Scorpio woman, I am deeply drawn to the dark things of life, to an understanding of them – of death and pain and lust and the like. It’s all one, sometimes. But there was on Monday a horrific scene of death that he had to deal with. Home, late, he related the details that he felt reasonable. But the next day he had to get photos of the poor soul. The issued 35mm wasn’t a nice SLR and he needed help. I volunteered. And took the digital. Heh..yes…
Suffice to say the young man was not whole after his final experience. But I sat on the old sofa in the small town funeral home and watched the process – the large freezer holding the table on rolling wheels – the table that held him – what there was left, anyway. The gentleman rolled it out with respect, unzipping that black bag with care and folding back the standard tarp just like you might use to gather autumn leaves or cover your woodpile…the blue tarp was bright color in an otherwise dull world. I could not see the entire…affair. And strove not to as he dealt with the photos and making his own notations about condition and the like. But the face…faced me. And the arm, awkwardly akimbo like a GI Joe who had a few too many war wounds. It wasn’t – there was no one home. Does that make sense? Unanimated. Entirely bereft – oh, and that is the word, is it not?
It could apply, too, to his now utterly bereft young wife. She waited outside along with the extended family, her own parents recently gone, his parents so obvious in their similar appearance to the lost. He continued his work as I assiduously avoided rising – no, best to keep eyes at table edge level and avoid the worst of it. Only a flicker now and then of what one would not want to consider. But I thought to myself – no reason to put a picture in my mind if it was not necessary. I think too often kids today and their torture porn movies place inside sights that are…not right. Not healthy. It’s not like the old mummy movies. Our monsters were never human back then, were they? But now? They are ALL human – just like us except capable of so much worse.
I left that horror in that room and we went back out into the overcast world where a kind wind blew away any remnant of the experience. And he went to that huddled group to explain to all who would know what lay behind those brick walls. I did not need to know more.
And so perhaps that is the link…that is the yearning for the sleep and forgetfulness. But the inner dialogue has to be stopped. The battle will be skewed otherwise. I will not win. And I’ll be damned if I’ll settle for what Is. Not when I know What Can Be. Not when my body softly sings from a corner what it knows is Possible.
Meanwhile, all of you out there, drive careful. I mean that most sincerely.
The evening’s mood is related to the CD by Poe of the same title. It really is a fantastic bit of work that I forget about for months and months, only to rediscover it. The cats have all been asleep and are waking again, their internal clocks declaring it moon-time, prowl-time, even though they nothing of either.
We, too, have those clocks. So comes the frenzy and the somnambulism. And rather than understand it for what it is we try to treat it, dull it or shove it aside. But I will admit that I am one that is too ready to wallow in that darkness. I think now of those days – years – spent in that place and wonder at how I have moved past it.
I think often of the line in the book, “we all go to our wedding bed with our past lovers in our eyes” and I know it truth – no matter how happy we are, we prick at the old memories, toss them out like cards on a table, selecting this or that one and mull over it. Who controlled whom? Who was the dangerous one? Which one was fooled and which one used? I am pragmatic, perhaps too much so, in this. I am honest with myself and can readily admit that I was to blame for a majority of what I’ve dealt with. A great amount of my unhappiness in the past was directly related to my making horrid decisions. Over and over again. Oh, yes. And, like a fool expecting a different result.
So I look now at this…sanity and I sometimes marvel at it. There are bits and pieces of that madness left in dusty papers and cracked leather, words upon words. I can revisit it whenever I like and that is the best, no? So much better than living in it – you can close that mental door and walk away, the scratching from behind it growing more faint.
There are times I think of mom and wonder if there is Other – a life after or no. A part of me has echoes of so many other…experiences…that I feel confident it is so. But the rational part of me thinks it all nonsense. This is it – live it up. And, of course, adhering to the latter will not hurt even if the former is true. But I flirted so long with death that I don’t know if it will hold the same import for me. And then I remember…it was hardly anything like that. It was a game, with rules and measured responses.
Still, I wonder if she has company where she is. Or has she moved on, a soul in a new life, learning what she was not able to in the last. What might that have been? In the end, the cancer was such a misery that there was simply no choice for her – to let go the easiest thing. I have to believe it – I was not there. I still close my eyes and thank the gods that she met the Trooper, that she could know I’d be okay – that I’d left behind that nightmare of hers and moved beyond that need for extremity. I think she had known it herself, in the past, and so worried for me. But she knew, in the end, that I’d be cared for and safe. I know she had to be comforted by it.
There were revelations the other night as we drove home, of childhood cruelty and destitution. Tears coming to edges of eyes as we remembered the kindness of people we hardly knew, of how one had to be harder and tougher than the rest just to get through. He and I, we are very much the same in so many ways. I think it is why we manage to get along as we do – crave each other’s presence even if it’s just driving down a remote Texas road, looking at hills and smiling to each other across the small distance. Here is where we were supposed to be and, I have to wonder, what we’d be if we’d met so long ago when we were both here, before. I, too young to see him for the clean thing I so needed and he, too young to see me for the good woman I was, inside. No – fate was good and right. We met when we were supposed to, when we were the people we needed to be.
I still marvel at it. The timing…it is all very strange and I wonder if he didn’t send him to me as he sent that other creature. All things in their time, you know? A greater hand at work…or just…coincidence. In this vast world, two lives slip together. Rather too coincidental for my tastes. But I’ll not look the gift horse in the mouth. Blessed – it’s a word I don’t use often. But I think it applies. No matter what else happens, we were blessed with this time together. I hope it lasts forever.