Jonathon and CC chose to live down the hall from each other in the same apartment building on 17th Avenue, close enough to point out that a calendar is not, in fact, a chessboard, and far enough to run into each other accidentally on the street over sushi.
Jonathon moved to Japan to teach English; he came home at Christmas with strange presents for me, Hello Kitty toilet tissue, tea cups and peculiar items, undergarments (worn?) obtained from vending machines. My relevance to Jonathon was based entirely upon my friendship with CC. He had no idea who I was although he brought friends for dinner he thought I might like. I did not like the friends he brought. The beat poets and the playwrights, JesusGod I need someone with edges, sharp edges.
I lost Jonathon after Christmas I think. I lost CC later when she married A and he tasted like vomit. But why do I say I lost her? I spent the day with her and her two children a couple of weeks ago. I have never been good at holding onto what is important to me or even identifying it until long after it is gone. The hallway in their building was almost a destination in itself, like a small country, a book repository, an overlay, and a very large view of the street.
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We went for dinner, me and Shawn and J and my parents. And like a 6-year old I ate all the bread on the table and was therefore unable to eat my meal. My anorexia - it's gone. Now it's like I have bulimia without the throwing up.
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11 comments:
Depressingly, I suffer from this very identical flaw: "I have never been good at holding onto what is important to me or even identifying it until long after it is gone." I can only hope that I do not lose the few true friends I have left.
It makes a person hang on too tightly to things, I find. It means it's hard to let go of everything, even that which should be.
I know this may be an excuse, but it really is the only sense I can make out of an inability to cultivate intimate relationships....when I was young and impressionable and thought that I was secure, safe, and happy, everything I ever loved was taken away in a blurring instant. It is my theory, that there is a little corridor in my mind that leads to a door, wherein lies what is left of my heart. This door is indefatigably, and fiercely protected by that little boy who was devastated so long ago. As long as no one is allowed to enter, he can no longer be harmed.
I want to be able to nurture those children sentinels, to heal them... and I don't know how. But I imagine myself able. What happened to you? You don't have to tell me of course; I'm so inappropriate with the asking, but I want to know where it hurts so I can feel it with you.
Today I booked my first-ever-in-my-whole-life massage ... for Wednesday. I'm actually scared but I tried to imagine that the masseuse would be someone kind who likes Toy Story and who helps women who fall off bicycles in the street. For real, this is true.
If we share a flaw and some damage, perhaps we share some strengths too.
For what it's worth, I think you're both beautiful people I would love to know in real life.
Have your little sentinels call my little sentinel.
This is a lovely thought, worth very much, and I would like that very much as well. And because I am a terrible cook I know exactly what I would pick up for us to eat for dinner. And since the party will be at your house (because I like your plants) I know what hostess gift I will bring you too, new rubber boots with pretty flowers growing up the sides.
Am I the only one who is wondering how you know that A tastes like vomit?
Heehee, oh you have joined us late. Pull up a chair and listen to the true and compelling tale of how I know that A tastes like vomit ...
http://mischiefgirl.blogspot.com/2010/07/this-is-true-story.html
Welcome to the table. Do you like Indian food?
That's so sweet of you both. I don't mind sharing...My mother was stricken with breast cancer when I was ten. It was aggressive and metastasized to her lungs. Had it happened more present day, I like to think that it would have been identified at an earlier stage and she may still be alive. She was an amazing person. Absolutely amazing. Anyway, It's why I always joke about my adoration for breasts....lol.
Mischief - for what it's worth, most therapists are nurturing, caring, and genuine people who realize they have a healing gift and are called to share their gift. I joke a lot about my job as a means of catharsis and to express my humor, but truthfully I love my job. I feel blessed that I have an ability to nurture people and facilitate the healing process. If I am ever capable of being a conduit for them to experience something deeper, such as a release of emotion, then being able to hold that space only makes my job all the more gratifying.
I guess what I'm saying is that most therapist enjoy their work and have good intentions. My advice is to ask for an experienced person, and to make sure that everyone knows it's your first time. Sometimes body workers can forget that not every client has had a massage before. Make sure you communicate with them. The more they know, the better your experience will be. Other than that, clear your mind, and relax.
Oh I did feel that with you, I'm sad. I'm sorry about your mother and you keep bringing more meaning to that bucket of chicken. My grandmother had a foam prosthetic breast of which I was terrified as a child. I had no idea how wonderful it was that she was alive. I wish I could hug you.
Thank you for your advice about the massage. I wonder why I am so nervous about it; I tend to be a touchy person. But not with strangers I guess. I will remember what you told me and I'll try not to think too hard about the panty game. (heehee)
Brown, I'm so very sorry about your mother, for your loss and for hers, too. It must have been devastating for her to realize that she would leave you at such a young age. Doubtless some of your ability to care and nurture grew from what she gave you.
Breast cancer runs in my family, too.
Lisa, do enjoy your massage. A good massage can make you feel reborn, invincible and totally alive.
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