Who wakes up next to you
This is where I'll leave your note.
The first one I ever received was pinned to my shirt. It was yellow construction paper, cut out into the shape of a school bus. "832" was written on it in one of the eight most important colors that exist in the world, according to Crayola.
You're still one of the 8 most influential people in my world, according to every woman I've loved since last we spoke.
The first note I gave wasn't folded cleverly. I didn't learn how to do that until well into my teen years, when I had a reason to do the cute little tucks and tails. To her credit, she didn't laugh, but the subtle shake of her head was indication enough that the words she would use after reading would be empty attempts at mollification or hollow apology.
It's alright, though. Because later, I found someone worth walking 500 miles for.
Until she wasn't.
The note I found at your apartment, it wasn't mine to find. It was an accident, really. I wasn't looking for it, but there it was. It spelled out in clumsy verse, in my best friend's handwriting, words that I knew in my heart but hadn't yet seen with my eyes.
You were gone, and he was with you.
Not me.
Until he wasn't.
Oh, I am now fine. I wasn't fine. I didn't think I would ever be, but, well. Time heals, and all that. And wow, it's been a lot of time. A lot of todays between you and me and then.
A problem of mine, though, is that I linger. I still bleed a little when the trees move from green to smokeless flicker-flame. It's spring now, but everything turns to autumn when I remember you.
So this is where I leave the bloody trail, smeared for everyone to see and experience along with me. Pictographs written in clear language with unclear resolutions, red-fading-to-rust, scrawled for pondering and perusing.
I think the issue here is the time of year. I don't love the spring and all its promise, because promises get broken. Fall doesn't lie, it lies in wait. It's coolness is fact instead of false hope. Frost is a guarantee instead of a final, rude surprise. Spring gives way to hazy days, but autumn gives way to lazier days, shorter in duration and sepia around the edges of afternoons. Each morning stumbles in from the dark, shaky and a little weak.
We've force-Marched into April, but you always remind me of October. Fall.
I tripped, once. Fell. Landed hard, battered and bruised and bitter.
The bruises have faded, I think. The bitterness sometimes slips away into more of a bittersweet.
Which brings me to today.
This is where I'll leave your note.
I'm sorry. I can't say I didn't mean to bring you fear, anxiety, worry. I meant to give you those things. I wanted you to feel those things. I did that to you. I wish I hadn't done that; it was hurtful and hateful and born of spite and resentment and resistance to inevitable change.
I was absolutely withered. Everything good and right and just had been chewed up and what was left in me was envious and angry. I was poisonous and miserable, and I wanted poison and misery visited on you, too. I'd been done to, and I wanted to do. I spoke in anger, I spoke with hatred. Fury was my world, and our worlds were parted.
My emotions ruled me, and I should have done better.
You told me you were afraid, and I was appalled. I was aroused. I was proud and I was ashamed and I was disgusted and I was pleased.
Mostly, though, I was saddened.
I never wanted you to fear me, but you did. You were afraid of me because of me. I should have done better. I should have been better.
I have done better since then. I learned from us. You taught me. You taught me so much, and only now can I see the lessons written those decades ago. The words are the same, but now they convey different meaning, like shadows flickering in different light.
I've channeled the anger. I've funneled the pain, I've processed the emotions, I've done better with others. There are scars, there are aches, but they're stories and allegories and ways to learn and do better. Be better.
I am better.
I wish you'd see me. I wish we could talk; I wish laughter was our language.
These things can't happen, because there's no bridge to be built. The ashes all floated downstream decades ago. I understand that, and I respect the borders and the boundaries and the barriers. We're worlds apart now, with the light of years between.
Me leaving things alone is the best case for you and for me and for us.
I'd like you to forgive me.
I'm pretty sure you've forgotten me.
I know it's best that I stay here on my side of the world, so I'll leave a note here for you. A note for autumn in the spring, a note for a deciduous love that tries to be evergreen when 'what if' wanders in and whispers poison.
In maudlin moments, I wish you could know I want to walk those 500 miles that separate us, just to be the man you once thought I was. When clarity sharpens my focus on the here and the now, though, I realize how lucky I am to not wake up next to you.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ6wJqaE6o4
Golden
I got a golden retriever puppy about four months ago, or at least I thought I did. I know, I know, "adopt don't shop," and everything. But have you seen golden retriever puppies?
After having her for this long, I'm not entirely sure I got a dog. Maybe they gave me something like a shark or a dinosaur. My arms are covered in scratches, my furniture is covered in bite marks, and my floors are covered in fur.
But her face. Her little face. With her long tongue and her oversized ears (which are the softest things I've ever felt). She has these big eyes that can make you melt.
So I forgive the wounds and the destroyed house. Scratches can heal, furniture can be fixed, floors can be vacuumed.
I will say, though, golden retrievers are very well named. They do, in fact, retrieve. They retrieve sticks from the yard, leaves from the bushes, even dirt from the flower pots! They will retrieve all of these things and give them to you as a present! How sweet!
Together We were Unhappy
Two different individual.
Too different individual.
Together, the two of us were too different to be more than just ‘individual’ to each other.
Too much time I spent alone in my room, getting all lovesick all over my bed.
Too much time we wasted on this weird journey together.
Two different stories, only one known ending.
Was it even about us being too different? Or is it how I am too much for you to handle?
Was it ever about us being just two individuals who were more than individuals but less than friends? Or is it how we both played the nonchalant game?
I don’t think it was about any of these weird rhetorical questions. There’s only one fact the two of us both know, a fact that is too true; together we were unhappy. Unhappily together as two.
The Sub
“Kaleeb?”
“It’s pronounced Kay-lub. It’s spelled like the C form of Caleb, but with a K. Kaleb. Here!”
“Steven?”
“You mean Steven spelled Stephan? Like Steffan? Here!”
“Jenna?”
“I think you mean Jean-na; there’s an A after the E. I’m here.”
The substitute teacher really was trying to get these names right. Her own name was always being pronounced incorrectly, and she thought her name’s easy; it’s Lea. Yet people never knew whether to pronounce it Lee or Lee-ah [she uses Lee]. Whenever it was her first day with a new group of students, she unfortunately felt like that 10-year old parody that Key & Peele did about a substitute teacher mispronouncing students’ names. Inevitably, the more she got the names incorrect, the more nervous she became, and her pronunciation judgment waned.
And here came a doozy; there was NO WAY she would be able to say this one out loud. It had to have been a joke on the roster to mess with subs, or this student’s guardians were a piece of work when they gave this name. The gender marker in the roll book said ‘female,’ which she felt made it even worse, if it COULD have been worse.
She could tell this wasn’t the first time this class had been through this; whispers and snickers were ebbing and cresting around the room. Many of the faces watched her as she contemplated how to handle this particular name, which she was on the verge of deciding was a joke and skipping it.
The student herself saved the embarrassing moment; “It’s pronounced Shi-thead, emphasis on the thead, which rhymes with read. And I’m here, too.”
Nope. The sub never would have pronounced “Shithead” correctly.
Why did I even call.....AT&T?
Hello, thank you for calling ATT, how can I help you today?
Me: Hi, I am calling to request more time to pay my bill. I recently lost my job and my mother in law was diagnosed with cancer and money is just tight right now. Can you help me with this?
Yes, Ma'am, I am sorry to hear about your situation, but let me tell you about this... we have an iPhone 14 that you can have for just $5.00 a month. It is brand new and you could also get a Samsung Galaxy the newest version for $5.00 also.
Me: Oh wow, Okay, I can do that......
Hanging up the phone as I realize how f***ked I just made myself and still didn't get an extension on the bill! (eyeroll)
I seriously don't understand how you can tell them you are broke and they sell you something anyways.
This is why I procrastinate the heck out of calling Att- TRUE Story
Feelings
Do you ever just feel these things for someone you know you can’t have, and its the worst thing in the world, because they get your whole being they love the things you love and its the most amazing thing. You talk to them and its like the world stands still and you wish time would just go slower. why can’t you, be mine why can't you notice me more then a friend. I love those morning talks, I love waking up and getting a good morning text and talking all day and even if the world is ending on your part, your so positive towards me. I wish I could give you the world and maybe one day I will but hopefully it could be sooner. I want to be able to take your pain away at least for the day, so you could see what happiness is and show you, why you need to stay.