(I am putting this back up because someone gave me hell for editing myself yet again).
When I was a kid I was so happy. True, I was afraid of things such as monsters, the death of animals, and darkness—I hated darkness. I was also terrified of being left alone. There were times when I would wake up, knowing that while sleeping and having fallen asleep that I was with someone, and upon waking up I was alone. I hated that feeling. I still do. For me, there is no emptier a feeling.
And Toby knows this. He knows that instead of letting me sleep, he should wake me up to tell me if he’s leaving. There have been numerous times where I have been woken up to find him in the other room programming. And as much I have grown to realize this as a possibility, I still wake up disoriented and confused.
It’s these moments during every day reentries into living where we’re almost brand new again, hostless and cold. It’s like being reborn all over again but THIS TIME knowing it’s happening and at first without any immediate history called to mind.
While I hate this feeling. I also love it. I love the moment I’m proven wrong. For example, I love reaching over in the middle of the night and grabbing my boy after realizing I’m conscious and he is there. Man, there is nothing more wonderful than that living warmth! The day that is taken away from me, I’ll feel like nothing. The unfortunate part is that for some reason, I already force myself to imagine this. And as terrible and silly as this may sound there have been moments where I hold my touch for a little longer just to make sure that he is still breathing. Sometimes I fear losing this happiness so much, I forget to enjoy it while it’s there.
When I ride into work in the morning, I get off the Muni at Montgomery station in downtown San Francisco. I walk through Montgomery Station, and head left through a small hallway. I ride the escalator up to the street and walk and pass a small newsstand in front of a tall Citicorp building. I keep walking forward. Usually I’m listening to music on my iPod. Lately, it’s been Modest Mouse’s “Good News for People Who Like Bad News.” This, like most of this post, has no relavant meaning. I just walk to a soundtrack and take in whatever seems different. (Every day, given the number of people there are in this world-
this city-I’m shocked at how many reruns I witness while commuting. Nuts).
Yesterday, I walked passed the usual office buildings, and I passed the usual parking garage about a block away from my office. While there, I turned my head to the right. The parking man stood next to a blue Honda. There was a woman sitting in the car. She was younger, probably around 35 or 40. The guy had given her a ticket—a ticket to say she could temporarily park there. I looked a bit further and noticed her license plate. It read:
You’ve Got a Friend In PENNSYLVANIA
After I got over my usual annoyance with the horrible grammar on the Pennsylvania License plate, my reaction was to walk over and introduce myself. I figured, she’s from home. I’m from home. She should know this. I should tell her about Pennsylvania. And I wanted her to know my name. I should ask her about fireflies and left turns. I should tell her that in San Francisco she can buy beer on Sundays. And she can buy it in the grocery store. I should also tell her about the wind and the fog and that it’s not really a storm. Someone really needs to tell her this and possibly, even deliver it with a hug.
I miss home. I can’t lie. Lately, I have felt like I’m living here just to watch the days go by. And that’s not good. (Who would do that to beautiful San Francisco?) I have been known to blow the past so far out of proportion—to glorify it beyond godly belief. Even this sad, nostalgic gal knows she will one day look back on this day and say “MAN! I want to go back again! I want to relive THAT time.” And you might think that if I knew that now, I might do something about enjoying now as well.
I make life really hard for me sometimes. And there is no one sicker than hearing these sort of words come to mind than I am. But they’re there every day during those moments I least expect them-
when a stranger is parking her Pennsylvania car in a dark parking garage at 9 a.m.-they’re there.
Why do I find a sadness in everything? I would sell this part of myself today for maybe a banana or even just one strawberry.