A Darker Day

Here is something I wrote during what my spouse would refer to as one of my “dark” moments. I have these sometimes. These are moments when I’ve gone from seeing red to seeing black and things that seem completely insignificant become mammoth issues. It’s not uncommon that in these moments something as seemingly benign as dropping a pen or realizing I need to shave my armpits can feel like the end of me. I simply do not believe I have the wherewithal to pick a pen up off the floor or run a razor over my underarms.  Experiencing these moments at home is fine, the worst that happens is that my husband will move quietly out of the room (the best that happens is he gives me a hug, which helps tremendously). However, when these moments come on outside the home, things get a little dicey. Fortunately I’m not actually insane so a sneer or a snarky comment directed at an unsuspecting (I won’t say undeserving. They usually deserve it.) stranger is about the worst that happens.  But then last last October something a little different came out of one of these moments – a song. I think technically it’s a poem (or rhyming rant) since there is no melody to go along with it, other than the chorus, which a dear friend put to song after a few beers. Regardless of what it is, I liked it. It made me feel good to pull out a pen and watch this appear on the pages. Then I read it over and it made me laugh and it calmed me down and I found that I felt much better. The dark had grown a few shades lighter and I’m pretty sure that’s what counts. I make much better choices, and sneer far less, when I feel lighter.

Don’t Set Your Drink On My Table

This may be somewhat confusing

The title of this song I mean

“Don’t set your drink on my table”

Do you think you can picture the scene?

The truth is I’m tired of sneering

My annoyance

My verbal attacks

I just want to roll with the punches

I want Sweet Leah back

But you came in and sat down too close to me

Though you are on a separate seat

You with your extra-long skirt, long hair, swept up in a felt cap so neat

You and your companion talk easily

You seem to have things you think matter

While I sit here and fume at your drink on my table

My anger, my ass getting fatter

So don’t set your drink on my table

Right now this is my only place

And with all the hatred and heartlessness

I need to control this space

You’ve removed your drink from my table

You must have gotten my drift

When I slid my unread newspaper close, so close your drink almost tipped

Let’s look out at the hatred and heartlessness

And now let’s look in on mine

When everything just pisses me off like this I feel like a sharp razor line

Nothing I think seems to matter

Nothing I feel seems real

It leaves me confused, wandering free, in a world that cannot seem to heal

When I feel the thump of your plastic cup touching down once again in my space

And then hear you sucking on your green plastic straw, why does it quicken my pace?

It can’t really be a real problem

With all that is thrown in our face

But you set your drink on my table

And it was simply too much to take

Day 243

Where are you? I’m at this restaurant, the one where we ate breakfast that day you called. You were feeling down so we came here for breakfast. I got the Mornin’ Burger because I knew you would roll your eyes at the fact that it had a fried egg on it. I’m here now. I’m not getting the Mornin’ Burger. Without you here there’s no point. Again I ask, where are you? Why aren’t you sitting across from me, with that pained look in your (BEAUTIFUL) eyes, but laughing anyway? You have no idea how much I miss you, and that’s my fault. You drove me absolutely mad sometimes, but in addition to that you were an amazing big sister. And you loved me, so much, something I am only just now seeing and feeling. Is there anything more heartbreaking than feeling love from someone after they are gone? And I don’t just mean after they are no longer in your life, I mean after they are dead. Unrequited love on steroids, you might have said. It’s just over the line of what I can handle. But I don’t really have a choice do I? You would get a good laugh out of the fact that I thought it was a good idea to leave work in tears and come to this restaurant, where I am literally blowing through a stack of napkins. The waitress is pretending not to notice my snotty nose and glistening eyes but she is incredibly gentle and quiet about things like pouring water and setting my coffee on the table and brining me more napkins. But who knows, she may be totally grossed out that I plan to eat an omelette through tears.

I miss you, so much. But what’s worse is I love you so much, so much more than you knew and so much more than I knew, it was buried under all the other crap we let rise to the surface for so many years. I try so hard every day to figure out how I can let you know how much Ioved you but I am at a loss.