"Fire and Rain"

I slept too long this morning; it always makes me feel like a lazy good-for-nothing.  But I just could not keep my eyes open, not even after coffee.  So, this began my third or forth day of being alone is this apartment without speaking to another human being.  Talked to my daughter once on the phone, but couldn't think of anything to say.  I do go to the grocery store, the post office, WalMart.  I applied to probably six jobs this week, called back on two and one was taken, the other "call later in the week".

So, what I call the "Black Hole", is big today, and really fucking dark.  I took a shower, ate some Raisin Bran with a banana, checked FB and emails.  Still felt lower than hammered shit.  Time to get busy.  Since I've moved into this apartment, I haven't really gone through the boxes in the closets.  No. I take that back.  Everything in the boxes are things I thought, at the time, were valuable, stuff I'd want to hang on to in case I ever move to a bigger place.  More room for pictures, drawings, candles, etc.  Still, I knew from previous experience, that I'd look through them and think, "why did I keep this?"  So started on the first closet of boxes.  One was filled with artsie-fartsie stuff I one day intended to finish.  Keep?  Toss?  Who was I kidding--toss.  Another was a box of old but protected People magazines of my favorite stars who've passed on.  Wow,  :(  I couldn't believe how many good people the world has lost, how many memories they held for me.

 Black Hole getting bigger.

 "All in the past," I told myself out loud. "Look forward!"  On to the next box.  Albums.  Records, I should say.  Bing Crosby Christmas, The Beatles IV, Phil Spector's Christmas Album.  And a boxed set of The Beatles Complete, London pressings.  My ex-husband gave me this one Christmas and it's been one of my prized possessions ever since.  Suddenly, I recalled the exact moment I opened it, with him sitting close and excited for me to see it.  I'd cried and cried, I was so happy he'd remembered and thought enough of me to buy such a treasure. 

One foot in the Black Hole . . .

Then came pictures of my mama, who passed in 1999, with me and my two sisters at her bedside.  One of those sisters passed in January, and the other, Sandy--well, we're not speaking.  Under my mother's pictures was one of those tin-plated wall hangings.  My oldest sister, Carol, collected those Victorian pictures of little girls with long, dark curly hair.  The most iconic is the one with the girl pouting in the corner with her little dog at her feet.  My sister had been sexually molested by my father--her stepfather, and in her heart and mind, she was another little girl named Callie-Lou.  This was the girl in these pictures.  The tin-plated wall plaque I found was of four little girls playing in a circle.  One was Carol, another was supposed to be me, with long blonde curls, the next with shorter hair was Sandy, and among them, with long dark curls was Callie-Lou.  Four sisters, innocent and carefree, playing 'Ring Around the Rosie' or some other child's game.

Cannonball into the Black Hole.

 It's all still sitting on my bed.  I can't--not today.  Maybe not tomorrow.  But I will organize it all and give it to my two girls, sell it in yard sales or give it to Goodwill.  I can't move forward with the sadness of the past staring me in the face all the time.  A part of me feels like I'm turning my back on people I love, but what choice to I have?

I was watching "Sling Blade" the other day.  Near the end, Carl (the mental guy) goes to ask a friend to look after the boy he'd made friends with.  "That boy lives inside his heart.  And that's a mighty big place to live", he said.  That's me.  I feel my life to the bone--past, present and future.  It's been a blessing in many ways.  It's made me a good mother, a good writer, a rabid lover of good music.  But it's a curse, too.  Life is too harsh to feel every single thing like a knife to the heart.  

They say divorce is like a death; I'm dealing with both.  I've passed denial.  I feel myself moving into anger.  Next is bargaining and then acceptance.  Those should be an interesting fucking circus.  Lots of clowns, that's for sure.  And me on the tight wire.

I miss my sisters--especially Sandy.  I miss my girls.  I miss my family, I miss my youth, and yes, if I had it to do over again, I would do many thing differently.

And I'm not built for living alone.  I have a lot to offer someone, even a roommate.  I still love the things I love passionately.  Even my sadness is vibrant.  The radio is now playing "Sounds of Silence".  And I can't turn it off; it's too pretty . . .