The Grip That Doesn’t Choke: Day Two Hundred Sixty-Four

1115447_52790190Start the new day off with a caffeine-charged post! That’s the ticket, ladies and gents.

Okay, that didn’t happen.

Maybe it’s a day to dream a bit (or a night, I guess).

The random post function meant I read this post – which was all about the day you left.  This was four years ago, I realize, now.  And I know that I didn’t spend the past four years mourning the loss of a friendship/flirtation that was both trivial and poetically charged.  I didn’t spend the past four years in black, trying to work google-fu to find you and only you and insinuate myself into your life.  I reference you because of what you represented and *that* I have been mourning.  The other friendships/flirtations/intentions for something other than a nod in a hallway died thin, collapsed deaths as I walked away from them, no holes in the lids of the mason jars.  I came back for amusement and found, time and again, that the captured delight had asphyxiated in my absence.  You, though, you left me.  That’s factual, if not exactly true. I find it really hard to not look back on it and see the play of light, remember how good it felt to be encouraged, to be special and clever and Dorothy Parker to his Mr. Benchley.  All quite

I wonder to myself if this new position will, if not offer me up some replicated form of this attention, let me calm down enough so I can find it.  So that I can finally shovel away this physical and emotional debris and

I mean, I think this is what I’m meant to write about, what my message is, that there’s hope regardless of being seen, there’s reason to speak regardless of whether or not you’re heard on a deeper level.  That the medium is the message, that we speak because we have life inside and stories to tell and we generate.  We are soldiers on the front-line of apathy, and we hold our bayonet steady and wait for you to run into it.  We do not worry because the blade is sharp and your body is soft and when the time is right, we will meet: a point entering a field.  There’s power in just saying in the darkness…I have taken on too much and I am discharging my duty.  There’s a place along the creek where nobody goes for fear of falling in the rocks, the jagged beer can reefs, the moist and kelpy surround.  We could go there and take turns being the point and the field.


I missed the last bit of the Roosevelts, but only because I was watching the first episode with my mother and eating rest of my lunch as my dinner which was a giant, unwarranted calzone.  I regret it now, wholeheartedly, and wish again for better days, better times.  A grip once more that doesn’t choke.  I learned that my aunt whom we are seeing tomorrow once interviewed Eleanor Roosevelt herself.  Already, a story to draw us out of the doldrums!

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