I met a guy Friday. He bought me half a bottle’s worth of Casamigos shots.
This after he said I smile a lot and it’s beautiful, but he can sense deep sadness behind it.
It felt good to be seen after the worst thing that could ever happen to me, happened.
I’d thought The Worst Thing had happened already. I had said, this is it. This is the worst I ever could have imagined, and it’s here.
That’s because I thought I was ready for the next part.
Now, I’m not saying the universe has run out of terrible things. Please. I’ve been a citizen of earth for 50 years. I could be luckier but I could be much worse off; I know this.
But, I can honestly say nothing scares me anymore.
There was one lesser worry in my head, that all this would change me for the worse.
To be fair, I’ve changed. Weaker in some ways, harder in others. I have more grace for those who are hurting. And I scream “die” — often loudly — to those who NEED TO.
Just ask butterface on a bike. Who needs to quit calling attention to that face when she flaps that yap.
As Anias Nin once said, “There were two women in me, at least.”
Today, there’s a whole goddamned coven.
Anyway, my pact with my mom was to tell no one.
Everyone let us down in the “before” and “during.” Let’s not bring any more disappointment here into the “after.”
I thought this Anais quote about submission to the enemy is particularly profound. And timely.
One of my, I wouldn’t say fears rather than EXPECTATIONS, was that as soon as word got out, the degenerates would rejoice.
I could see at least one dig her dusty dancing shoes out of mothballs and do an uncoordinated conga over the fact that every string holding me together had broken.
Knowing this was coming, I canceled my subscriptions to her issues. One by one, I eradicated the accounts I used to view her tired nonsense.
“10 months sober … I’m never going to risk it,” as Queen Taylor promised.
I’ve kept everything as “on the DL” as I could. That’s the beauty of suffering. No one wants to go near it, lest it remember that they’re doing OK right now and maybe they should ache too.
So when David said he could see the deep sadness in me, I felt seen in a way I haven’t since that miserable May 16, 2021, day.
That’s the thing about strangers. I tell them more than anyone in my orbit.
Maybe that’s why I crave a nomadic life so much …
I get what I need from people, give them what they need, and we all move about the country or the planet or the solar system. Both unburdened and with perspective we never otherwise would have gotten.
Also, get used to “space” metaphors and jokes here.
I spent a week at NASA — not at the visitor’s center, but with scientists — something I would NEVER have been able to do without a connection the universe made for me.
My takeaway is I have nothing stopping me from shooting for the stars. Not that I ever did. In fact, my lone rocket booster is gone.
But, low orbit is still achievable. Maybe not today. But, you know, before they shoot my cremains into space. Or maybe sooner. Let’s hope.
Which I’d write in my “Fuck, I’m Dead! Now What?” planner if ever that stupid Chinese company that took my money for it a month ago would SEND IT.
I’d say the worst part of all this, but there are SO many worst parts and this isn’t even close, but it’s the happier moments. They don’t stop coming.
I mean, great, right? No one can function in constant misery.
At least, we DID but that all came to a horrible but somehow still beautiful end.
I do feel bad in a way to those who will read through these lines and find joy for all the wrong reasons. First of all, die. Second, die painfully. And third, seriously, go to hell covered in black bloody vomit.
Anyway, I only even met David because I was shooting for the stars (the gym) and parked at the cantina next door. Low orbit wasn’t so bad.
We agreed to meet there, same time next week. Which I am loath to publish because ol’ dirty doc martens will probably show up.
I do a lot of that, you know. Hiding where I am until after I’ve been there.
But you know what? Show up. I would like to have a word. Read closely and you’ll find it in this post.
I have surrendered to enough enemies for two lifetimes.
If I only have 10 years left, I’m going to make them the best of my fucking life. And if I have 30 or 40, even fucking better.