Friday, July 23, 2010

on cutting my losses

As it turns out, I wasn't all alone. Only mostly alone. Peter, in his infinite generosity, arranged for movers to turn up in hazard suits and help me throw the contents of our lives into cardboard boxes, one by one. I have no idea what went where—or how, or when—or in what condition, but it is done. Today at high noon, the boxes were loaded, the apartment cleared, and I walked away from the truck with nothing but my purse on my back. Just as some schmuck in a Corolla was pulling up with a spray can and a surgical mask to "treat the building."

You can't script this stuff, folks. It just happens. I walked away from a loaded moving truck, alone, and—just then, in that particular instant—the threat of rain became a reality of rain and an Amtrak rattled over the Hell Gate bridge. My cell battery died before I turned the corner.

I have gone off the grid.

In other news, I miss Peter and France so much it hurts. Now that my tenure at She Beast Enterprises, Inc. draws to an end, I'll never forgive myself for not telling her where she could stick it for denying my vacation time.

So excuse me today, world, for this little blip of melodrama. After all, what is there to do on an empty N train away from life as we know it but bawl all the way to Astoria Boulevard?

Time to go get "this too shall pass" tattooed on my forehead.


Bathwater said...

Make sure you get it tattooed in Latin, I get everything on me tattooed in Latin it just looks more mysterious that way.

Kathleen said...

A billion years ago my roommates I hung a huge sign in our living room that said "You are going to be OK!" And you will be.

Anonymous said...

The City, Berobed in Blue

by Eleanor Lerman

What do you think has come over me?
I did not feel like this yesterday
but today, all I find myself thinking is,
This could be my last apartment,
my last lover; this could be the last dog
I ever own—as if I were going to die
at any moment. Which of course
is possible (myocardial infarction,
genetic defect, lighting bolt)

The anxiety may pass, but not
the age. Yikes, every moment says
And then, Look out!

Well, what can be done but put
a good face on it? A big one,
round as a moon and glittering
to the last. Or maybe slide into
an om state, where nothing is
something and everything is
more or less of something else

Better yet, maybe it's time to think
about the city, berobed in blue,
which now appears to me in memory
as a good place for a young girl,
who only I can recognize

See how lightly she steps off into
another, and then another morning
And as if she has never done it before,
begins to breathe

g. fox said...

mmm.... thank you anonymous.

Scarlet-O said...

Melodrama? Please.

In light of the shitstorm you've been dealt lately, you hold yourself with unfathomed grace and humor.