I went up the back stairs palms sweaty. I didn't know what to think. She had become a memory and an abstraction in the Ten Days I've been away transforming my mind in Europe. I knew that would happen, the transformation I mean, and I worried this sweaty palm thing into existence somewhere over the Atlantic.
In England, I pictured seeing her again, many times in my head and in the plane and the airport and in the other plane and in the other airport and in the car and at home and then in the car again and when walking down the street and now going up the stairs. Everytime I ran through it it was a little different. I thought that 8 hour flight was long... jeezus how many fucking stairs are on this stair case, too many and not enough.
What if I was crazy? What if it's nothing. It's a bag of hot air puffed by hope soon to be slowly deflating with the high pitched whine of dissapointment. God what if it's not what if this is one of the 'big ones.' jeesus. I've been getting used to the the dissappointing kind for a while now, maybe I'd perfer it was one of those. I think I could handle that. Disappointment requires very little commitment. But worse still what if she's THE big one. I'm getting old enough to hit THE big one. terrifyingly promising. This thought is too big to fit in my head, so let's hose it down, cool it off and stick it up in the clouds somewhere beside the winning 649 ticket.
Reconnecting is strange. There is a tightness in your chest that releases, there is a opening somewhere in your gut and a rising up of something and then a warmth. it's really something. You can only feel it after a real distance and with a mutual desire to reconnect. It's been a while since I've cooked up those ingredients. if you think it smells good, well shit you should try it, deee-licious.
We were at the rock show, The Weakerthans. It was really good. So was the band, but I could see the music in her body in her fist and her smile and her neck and on her lips. It was on her skin, it was rewarding. Her eyes flashed with it. IT was encouraging. I wasn't crazy, and more... it keeps coming. All that I saw before was still there, Paris didn't take it away, nor did my fear and even better, more, there's more she's still happening. Not frozen in my mind like she was but I could take her off pause and see more. I forgot about that. She'd spent so much time on pause in an emotional statis. I was half expecting to come back to judge what I'd already seen, but I didn't get a chance. She was still happening. I can get so stuck in my head sometimes.
Fear is frozen in time. It's a moment of fear, the fear is the cresendo of an awful turn of imagined events. It a bottle neck in a path. The squeeze on a choice. Fear is trying to help, but you have to try to make sure it doesn't squeeze the life out of you, you can't let it get too strong, you gotta take it on every now and then, or that imaginary fucker'll kick the crap out of your choices. haHA! I am Zorro!
Today's Song of the Day is "Left And Leaving" by The Weakerthans off there 2000 album "Left And Leaving."
Crazy Fact: The Weakerthans took their name from a line from the film adaptation of Marguerite Duras' The Lover: "Go ahead, I'm weaker than you can possibly imagine."
njoy
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