i read, today. i read who is real to the bone. who shares with us, her fortunate audience, her life. her LIFE, people. most of us know that’s not easy to do. she makes me want to be me, in the most outrageous way i can.
for fadra nally and her beautiful, smart brain that pours good things into the internet and the world.
for maggie ginsberg-schutz and all the hundreds of voices at violence unsilenced. speaking the words, i cannot begin to describe the power. and the power of a healed woman cannot be duplicated.
for my mentor, my spiritual teacher, my peace and solace in this world.
for myself, for these women and their courages acts of humanity, for all the good in small and large ways we can each do, i will resume my writing here.
my life the past five years has not been a sham, no matter what my broken heart wants me to believe. i loved, deeply, purposefully. and it got all fucked up, as things will. and i am some moments mad as FUCK about it, too. none of it was fair. i know that seems a naive thought, but pain in all parts of me.
the up side, the true side, is that i am where i am. still standing. i am blessed beyond measure. i have this voice. and i’ve never been able to sit down and shut up, anyway.
if you’re here today, take a quiet moment in this space to remember all the souls gone from this earth at the hand of evil, & all the souls who loved them left behind. remember them in calm love.
so, i lock my keys in the trunk of my car. because all the cool kids were doing it. it’s sunday morning in navarre, florida. sunday morning still comes after saturday night, every single week. i go into the phone call to my roadside assistance service knowing that i’m probably not gonna get the cream of the crop of locksmiths.
hoo wee, was i wrong. i hit the fucking locksmith-slash-towtruck driver motherlode, do you hear me?
the first thing i notice, after the raw sex rolling off his deeply tanned skin, was his attire. lazy cargo shorts, worn tee, reef’s, hat on backwards, costa’s. on a 40-something year old man. reminding me that lesbianism has not knocked out my ability to spot a sorry ass beach rat a mile away and want to make him ALL MINE.
the tow truck he was driving? diesel, black and chrome, and yes oh yes, ladies: naked girl cutouts on the back windows.
about the time he slid out of the driver’s side, i noticed the air took on a…i’m not sure the words, but a fragrance. i’m not sure about y’all, but my first love had this cologne called “l’hombre”. you mix that with yesterday’s beer and marlboro reds and it was a panty dropper every single time. i was one classy lady. and apparently still am.
looking closer, once i stopped batting my eyelashes as though i had a terrible tick, i noticed the absolute end-all-be-all of the look he was going for. he was wearing gold-tone chain bracelets on each arm, a gold-tone figaro necklace with a marlin pendant, and…are you so ready for this? THIS was on his left middle finger:
so, i’ve been lying to you all. i never came home. we’re getting married, my man and me.
i started off writing a post in the form of a letter to myself, 3 years ago. i tried and deleted and re-wrote and it just never felt right. i wanted to share some future-wisdom with the woman that was. i wanted to tell her what would be important and what to not do. what to remember and what will prove futile.
but it…it’s all already happened. that woman was there. i was there. i have all the memories, the good and the bad. the funny. the devastating. the screaming. the pain. i have it all.
and it’s time, for me, to move on a little farther away from that mountain.
today, i remember.
tomorrow, i wake up and i crawl out of bed and it’s been 3 years and i move the fuck forward.
today, it hurts like hell to remember. the sounds, the smells, her screams, my over-comforting, the blood, the knowledge, the searing hot pain, the whole of it. every bit of it is like a ragged knife in my spirit.
there is no miracle cure for moving on. there is no trick. it happens day by day, minute by minute. tomorrow won’t be magic…but it will be tomorrow.
tomorrow i can love me more. tomorrow i can be gentle. tomorrow i can thank god the sun came up again.
tonight i’m gonna cry.
silently speaking my failings, my fear, my furthest deep down dark funk.
on padded feet, walking through the mind of my day. hushing and soothing my worried brow.
laying open souled with only the whir of my ceiling fan witness.
stillness is all that is left
standing when the most of me is
laying collapsed upon the floor.
these things, they will heal me.
i’m going through the motions with an entire cadre of calm prayers running on loop in my brain. i suck at taking care of myself. hopefully practice will make at least possible.
have you ever watched a real-life sloth? they mesmerize me, every trip to the zoo. they’re…deliberate. and cautious. patient. calming.
i’m wondering tonight, though…what’s their defense? what happens when the tiger or dingo or whatever is ahead of them on the food chain comes along?
my friend, the interwebs, told me that they have humongoid claws, so they can swipe to kill or wound. but better than that, they rarely are faced with danger. they move as little as possible and only when absolutely necessary. they rarely come to ground level and blend in so well with their surroundings that they, for the most part, go unnoticed.
i’m beginning to understand that this, theoretically speaking, deadly sin goes deeper than the surface cliché of laziness.
so much to think about.