Friday, May 03, 2013
One year ago this weekend: a Friday night frolic with a friend, a Saturday morning walk in the heat of Cinco de Mayo, and a trip to Cox South.
This weekend: my first impulse is to kick out the jams and act foolish, because nothing screams "survival" like a rock-and-roll romp.
Then Amazon Donna texted last night (at precisely the right moment, as she is wont to do): Not sure what you're planning for the anniversary, but just know that you're loved.
And a moment later: There's never a wrong time to tell someone you love him, unless you wait too long. In any event ... you made it through a year, the rest is cake, right?
"It's at least pie," I wrote back. "A little humble, but very sweet."
A year ago I would have raged at the thought of anything sweet in my mouth. A couple months ago I would have focused on a bitter aftertaste.
Tonight, it's all sweet. Humble, yes — few things are as humbling as not being able to write with my good left hand — but I needed to be humbled and brought to ground. No matter the way it happened; the circumstances no longer matter. All of that happened in my personal paleozoic era, and my world has moved on. The old days and ways are dead, and my mourning for them has turned inward, out of public view.
I have stepped out of the tar pit trap, shaken off the effects of being mired in the muck, and even though the Pisces boy is still weak at times, drawn by the magnet, I no longer have a desire to eat someone's cancer. My tastebuds have changed. My appetite for imminent destruction is gone.
I am quiet this evening, contemplating what was and what is. What will be is unknown.