Deadline Set

My bladder is so messed up today.

Right now, I am feeling I wished I had never worked for Home Depot before.

Can you imagine living a life where for more than two years you were not even able to have a single friend?!

Can you imagine a life where for more than two years you were not even able to go and have any kind of life besides work which was 24 hours a day even while you were sleeping?!

Living the way I have been made to live is like living in solitary confinement.

Lost In The Moment

At Panera, which was normally our routine after rehearsals, sitting at a high-top table we over-worked, tired, broke, stressed-out college grown-ups trying to release the dull-drum schedule of work, school, and very little sleep – not necessarily in that order – talking and bull-shitting, would one-off each other.

Somehow the topic became a question of whether or not there could possibly be a limit to the size of a man’s junk.  Is there such a thing as too big?  Certainly there is such a thing as too small, right.  But, too big?!  Is there such a thing?

While the table started to discuss the very worthy question of how big is too big, I recalled I time a man got me drunk on red wine.

My wingman, a girl from work who had been hooking-up (do people still say hooking-up?) with a guy from Turkey (can anyone say Green Card – not to sound bitter, I just found it an unequal match) said, we’ll all go out and have a good time.  Meeting them at his apartment I waited on his sofa while he took a phone call when I arrived.  Most of the conversation took place with him staring at me while speaking Italian on the phone.

Let’s have a drink first, he said when he hung up his phone call.

Sure, what do you have?

He poured me a glass of red wine so sweet from the fruit that was soaking in it, I finished the glass rather quickly.

And then I finished another and another.

Oh, it was so good.

We never made it out that night.

Lying on his bed, tipsy, and wanting more…when I got to unzip his pants – Whoo, Lord have mercy!

It was a beautiful sight to behold.  That man was hung like a baby elephant.  Holy shit!  That was a beautiful creation God made between his legs!

I still recall that moment with stammering wonderment.  It’s a story to tell your grandchildren.  Embarrassing them with the life you lived before them.

So, well equipped with that memory, I blurted out matter-of-factly, yes there can be such a thing as too big because my jaw does not come unhinged!

There was great laughter all around the table, but one person fell back with such laughter he fell to the floor.  It took me a second to realize he was not only laughing so hard he wasn’t making any noise, but he was completely flat on the floor.

Almost immediately I started crying tears of laughter from the beautiful sight of him laughing.  And in that moment an overpowering need took root.  I just wanted to be next to him.  Close to him.  Just to be near him.

In the past I have used laughter as a weapon as a means to unarm people, so I can see people as they really are perhaps even as God meant them to be.

When a person is so gone in the moment from laughing they could pee themselves and not even care, or notice just to have one more breath, so they could laugh again – it is the most beautiful sight to me.  There is a boundless wonder of the human soul and spirit to behold a much greater story to be told in that single moment.

Worn Through

A kind of tired wears on me.  It is not just in the way my drab clothes hang upon my petite frame, exhaustion echoes loudly across my face yelling keep away, I’m worn out.

I’m so sick of traffic.  Anyone else sick of the same old shitty traffic?

I brought home take-out today,  I’ll be able to eat for days off it.  I’m reminded of the days when I took care of my mom.  She would go through times where she would not eat what I fed her.  She never did eat very much,  I would have to bribe her with chocolate or treats in order to get her to take her medicine.  Because if I couldn’t get her to take her medicine, what good was I?

So, I would get take-out just to try to get her to eat.  Honestly, it was always a great deal of work.  I would feel exhausted afterwards, but I felt as if I accomplished something at least.

I would have gotten her up, bathed, and dressed.  Given her a ride, so she was out of the house and out of bed.  She would have walked some instead of lying down in bed.  Then, she would have had some real food.

It wasn’t just the drive and getting out of the house.  She loved people.  She worked with people her whole life, international students, refugees, and children.  All shapes, all sizes, all colors, all ethnicities, she truly loved people.

She would reach for people, talk to strangers even after her strokes she never changed, she never altered.  She loved people and she wanted to make sure they – whomever she came across – knew she loved them.  Maybe it was her belief in God, maybe she was compensating for a lack of love in her own life, maybe she saw something no one else did.  I don’t know, but she loved people.

They say the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, and that’s true.  Sometimes people might find that hard to find in me as it was my job to protect her which sometimes meant asserting a different approach.

It’s a kind of terribleness to no longer have someone to care for.  I’m like a mother without a child, a nurse without a patient, or a solider without a fight.

Given my present circumstances that continue to keep those who know and care about me far, far away, I believe my loss to be unrecoverable.

Once, I went into a store and I thought I would get married there.  I can’t explain that.  Perhaps there was an unfair advantage that persuaded me into believing that story, I’m not sure.  But, I believed it.  And I believed it would help to marry him.

I will cry when I am ready, but not before then.  They will be my tears and no one else’s.  Don’t push your luck, buddy.