pandemic diaries: 10:55p 6 may, 2020

in desperation I tried to not be desperate.
(I do not think that I was successful.)

to your infinite credit you did not shy from my touch
you never do.
I stroked your cheek, your chest, your collarbone.
watched you inhale
exhale.
I tried to be in the moment, to get out of my head and simply feel.
Wanting to swallow you whole,
to be swallowed. Whole.

i could not.

breathing through my open mouth
so I would not sniffle
so I could control it (could I? Girl.)
so my breath would not hitch
so you would not know.
Right.

I had to stop thinking about
about not touching any other person
until I see you again
having not touched any other person since the last time I saw you
And the time before that.
no other physical contact no matter how wholesome.
None.

I am hoping that the intrusive, inconsistent noise from overhead isn’t disturbing you
anywhere near as much as it is clearly disturbing me.

i cannot sit with these thoughts anymore so I turn away
pushing myself back up against your hip to hide the inevitable tears that
are
Falling.

you know.
you just know as I just know, always.
You curve me into your embrace
resting your head on mine
dear, sweet thing.

You have given me exactly what I have needed
And for a while, it is enough.

pandemic diaries: 7:41a international star wars day 2020 | birthday thanks

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but I, I think my birthday this year was possibly the best one I’ve ever had. It’s certainly one of the most special, and I want to thank everyone for being a part of it. 52 on 5/2 I’m certainly not playing with a full deck it’s more like a deck full of jokers.
So thank you everyone for being part of it.”

for the record (and as far as i know you look it up if you don’t believe me) for the past fifty-two years it has been shitty exactly once on my birthday. That was 2001, the year I turned 33 and one of the years I was in and around dating Noel. I’m sure he had just recently broken it off again. Anyway.

my parents built the house I grew up in in 1970. A typical, split-level ranch. Right outside my bedroom window they planted this glorious cherry tree, a Kanzan Sakura, with the big, fat, pale pink marshmallowy blossoms. I love that tree, it’s my favorite flower of all. Blooms every year on my birthday.

I don’t remember how early on but it was early, I told Gary that when I finally owned my own home I would plant one of those trees in my yard. The first spring that we were in the house we planted our tree. We didn’t plant it in a good spot, it didn’t get anywhere near the kind of sunlight it needed underneath the massive canopy of maple and oak. I could, however, see the blossoms from my bedroom window.

Last year, after the house went into foreclosure, I knew that would be my last birthday with that view, of cherry blossoms from my bedroom window. And then the neighbor went ahead and chopped down the maple and oak, that gorgeous canopy of green that had been protecting my head for 13 years. A full backyard of sunlight meant that the cherry tree would have a chance to grow properly now, reaching up towards the sun instead of slinking around corners to find it. Only I wouldn’t be here.

This year however, with the world on pause, I got one last, magical reprieve to spend with my tree. So I went to my backyard, prepared to see admirers as any queen would, and enjoyed my day under the cherry blossoms.

pandemic diaries 224p 21 april 2020

i cant smoke enough today
cant distract from all the love all the
couples
all of the truly meant “i love you”s
not the sweet softness of friends or family but the true
deep, desperateness of a real love.
the kind of love that has seen pain, felt it within its walls.
heard its voices quake in fear.

this pain this
absence.
this lack.

the isolation makes it more intense more
invasive
the virus of loneliness manifesting and growing wilder still.

try as i might to quench this beast this
monster
i sit under the clear skylight
under the rain
no sound other than the shrieking in my skull
the purring of the engine
the staccato of the rain on the car.

six thousand
five hundred
seventy-eight days ago
on a day very much like (and completely unlike)
today
i saw your face for the first time
saw you wink
for the first time saw that thousand-watt smile
for the first time.
6,578 days ago i fell in love with you for the first time.
there honestly has not been a single day since
that i haven’t had the most incredibly complex thoughts about you.

i wish i could comfort myself with the belief that somehow
somehow you know all this
that in some way you are hearing me
seeing me.
still loving me in that complex, fierce way you had.

but this is how i know there is no god.
this
this is how i know for sure.
(nobody fuckin come at me over this you can fuck off and keep your smug shit to yourself i am TIRED)

unrequited love is BULLSHIT and it is roaring inside me like a furnace
oh it has places to go (well it used to, now didn’t it)
but it is held back
it is most definitely restrained

it doesn’t want to be.

everybody EVERYBODY
everybody says how strong, how brave, how resilient
WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE.
no one is coming to save me. No one.

so i sit and i smoke and i cry and i hold my own hands.
and i scream inside my head all day long.
and when i do talk to someone anyone
mania takes over i have no control.
and i scare myself.

gam zeh ya’avor gam zu le tovah / this too shall pass and it is all for the good
i know I KNOW
but it is killing me NOW.

it’s been almost an hour that i’ve been out here, now, smoking.
my plant is finally drenched.
my medicine is finally working.
i smoked enough to take down a fucking RHINO.
there won’t be any ill effect from this, either.
my body knows what it needs, i feel clearheaded, if stoned.
none of the usual giggliness i usually do but most definitely
uplifted.
my medicine works hard,
i work harder.

pandemic diaries: 1145p 10 april 2010

this being apart shit.

this fucking shit is tearing my body apart
raking my flesh
scissoring my veins
shredding my bones…

it is rendering me jellied,
puddled.

my body knows this feeling
this d e p r e s s i o n.
it isn’t the right time for it not like this.
all of this laying around and doing nothing
AND BEING TOLD ITS OKAY.
this is what’s different.
i’m not tired i am active. alert. pointy.
with no release.
no way to let go.
no way to succumb.

So I smoke.

and i eat.

and i smoke.

and I have a rich fantasy life and when I do venture out it is with
dire regard
like a fox I am so
aware.
I crave human interaction I crave
I crave.
i need
voice. a face.
a touch .

this is tearing me apart.

603p monday, 30th march, 2020

wanting to want to do something
anything
becoming frustrated at every turn
every avenue blocked
each first becoming more
and more tentative.
timid.
i give up.
the phone in the half-inch of dirty dishwater was it.
tearing at the case to free my phone
fumbling it nearly to the floor
a soft, sharply inhaled shriek
what what what RICE
WHERE IS THE RICE
is that even what you’re supposed to do is it
I have wild rice mix does it matter?
gods it’s dusty that can’t be good for it.
try the phone, the speaker sounds shit oh FUCK.
…
leave it.
Leave it for hours. Let go.
Knit, a little, can you?
Would you?
Where? there are the stitches Mike made. Soft, soothing, remembering his hands in the wool.
…
you’ve texted everyone, overtexted.
emailed; overemailed.
…
It’s almost six. Nearly eight hours.
…
seems fine.
gingerly, reaching out.
soothed, analysis of the situation intact.
depression, surely, and not for no reason,
I mean
Not like it needs a reason but COME ON.
…
watching this cycle happen in real time
but slowed down
(how could it be slowed down I was right here I SAW IT HAPPEN)
talking through it
(in real time I think maybe that is so much a part of it we were talking actually
Talking.
)
…
And now?
Medicated.
Writing.
Vomiting up all the toxic fury.
Expelling it and becoming clean by its expulsion.
…
Even. Buoyed,
if not buoyant.

into dust 1035p 21 march 2020

i do not know how to explain to
rationalize so completely wanting to overwhelm to
suffuse myself in another so that perhaps
(perhaps)
i could regain my self apart.

cannabis diaries 8:41a, 28 february, 2020

today began like every other one in our new place.
get up, take care of Mojo
(we’ve got a new/old meds/food routine!
took a minute but it’s so close to same.)
take care of momma
(coffee and cannabis)
it’s fucking frigid out there this morning on the porch
twenty-eight fucking degrees (fahrenheit. celsius is what
MINUS TWO POINT TWO TWO WHAAAT)
come back inside to plan the rest of my day.
:switch showerhead
:okay then, text building manager about getting that done. and the hello tushy thing.
:shower
:get Rosie inspected before work

feeling buoyant and happy, I ask Mojo if it’s dance party time.
of COURSE it is, momma
what playlist… ooh The Delish.
THAT one.
because he is coming over later.
Mojo in my arms, sunlight streaming in the windows, music on the Sonos.
“I’ll Be There” by Jess Glynne

“When all the tears are rolling down your face
And it feels like yours was the only heart to break
When you come back home and all the lights are out, ooh
And you're getting used to no one else being around
Oh, oh, I'll be there
When you need a little love, I got a little love to share
Yeah, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna come through
You'll never be alone, I'll be there for you
I'll be there, I'll be there for you…
Oh, I swear, I got enough love for two, ooh, ooh, ooh
You'll never be alone, I'll be there for you…”

(I put this song on his playlist because this is 100% the essence of our relationship.
It isn’t an all-the-time holding hands and going places thing.
rather it is the inherent understanding that when we need each other, we are there.
in a somewhat unconventional way but valid just the same.)

what this is REALLY about, howmever, is the 10.628 pounds of fur and fangs and fierceness currently (and usually) the occupant of my left arm.
whether it is hormones (it definitely is) or bipolar (haylo!) or grief (can i get a trifecta? sure you can!)
music and cannabis and the FUCKING STRESS OF THE ELEPHANTS UPSTAIRS
are all coalescing to reduce me to tears
thinking how i can’t think about suicide because of Mojo.

reading all this and knowing just how fucking hard today is going to be at work and
knowing *that* is going to make it the tiniest bit easier.

having these reminders
these unbidden intrusions of
HEY
LOOK
LISTEN
don’t go anywhere yet
you got stuff to do here, still

i mean it.
just hang on.
please.

there are so many good things.
so many new good things.
so many.

so many that i want to see what happens next.

https://open.spotify.com/track/083Qf6hn6sFL6xiOHlZUyn?si=XUpRXZXbSrmaYWfyKxy-fg

1:44a, 22 february, 2020

it is late (again)
i am up (again)
thinking, overthinking.
wishing; missing.

grateful yet empty.

1:34a, 20 february, 2020

you are* the most beautiful lover
the most considerate
you hold my face in your hands my mouth
engaged with yours.
i fly so high with you, so close to the sun
you keep me sheltered from burning, protected.
I never know what piques your temperament,
what drives you softly, or
insistent.
What steers you, my love, my sweet.
I know that I do, that when asked
“who do I belong to?”
your voice, a low growl responds
“Me. To do with what I wish.”
I know you feel freedom with me
unfettered
judgeless
pure.

As for me,
I am unafraid (mostly) to say what I feel to you
To whisper “i love you so much
you know that, right?”
(nodding, your soft hair brushing my forehead)
“it’s okay for me to say, right?”
(I say this last bit with trepidation, for even though we have continued to make this work, this
thing we have this sweetness.
I say it with trepidation still because even after all this time, how much do I really know?
((how much more do I really need to know beyond the depth of your loyalty to me?))
more nodding, your soft eyes slowly blinking at me like a big cat. A lynx. Dear heart.)

*(almost always. Would be a lie if I said otherwise and you’ll be the first to agree.)

Conversations after midnight. 22 January, 2020

J came over last night. I don’t think I can see him anymore.

It was so good. Right up to the point where he told me about all the amazing things he’s seen, the art, the museums.
With the girlfriend who doesn’t know.

I had actually forgotten just how good he is. I made the mistake of saying that, too. That I had forgotten.

I really don’t think I can see him anymore. It’s just way too upsetting. And now he’s gone and I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. I asked him, right before he left, when will I see you again? “I don’t know.”

He’s never going to tell her. And why should he? He’s content with the way things are. He has two other partners who are willing to be with him and not worry about being a secret.

I cried. I told him that I wasn’t going to say that I was sorry. That I wasn’t going to apologize. That I wasn’t going to apologize for saying the things that I said. I will never not be truthful and it hurts.

I told him that I can’t give him any of the things that she gives him. I can’t give him any of those things. The museums, the trips, the fancy dinners. The introductions to people who are so special.

He said, you give me enough, more than enough. But obviously it isn’t. I wish I didn’t care. I told him that, too.

The tldr version is: I should have said no to him coming over.

Because now I feel gutted. I really don’t like feeling this way. Especially since it could have been avoided.

I asked him specifically to not talk about her because he cannot talk about me in front of her. So no, he didn’t say her name. But boy motherfucking howdy did he tell me all the wonderful things they did together.

Why would he do that, you ask?

He was excited to tell me about all of the art. And I was excited about all of the art. Until he told me where it was and why he was there.

And that’s when I started to cry.

I think he has mostly good intentions. I don’t think he sets out to hurt me. But he is an old dog and apparently is unable to learn a new trick. To not kiss and tell.

I asked him if she knew what she had with him. If she understood just exactly how lucky she was with him. No upside to that conversation and I already knew the answer because I knew how lucky I felt, had felt, when we were together.

She does know. She loves him very much.

And because he is charming and so very talented, people remember why they don’t say no to him. I’m not going to do it anymore.

I didn’t sign up for this, being a secret with him. I said that last night, too.

He said, “I know.”
I know. Not bloody helpful.