It gives me headaches when the rains come; last night/early a.m. the barometric pressure was flipping about like a string in a hurricane and I actually wept for being unable to escape the pain that cradled my head. As soon as the clouds begin to drop water, it eases; it’s never fast enough to suit me.
I am grieving the loss of my daughter and my grandchildren, so there are often drops in the abyssal ocean of memory, too. I don’t think there’s anything worse than drawing a healthy boundary only to watch someone you love turn and walk away from it.
And then there were two; my dear, sweet, J and my brother-from-another-mother, C. My world collapses into a soulful triad. I know I’m supposed to be content, but I’m not there yet.
I have often envied people who have “real family”; relations who demonstrate attention, affection, and care. I know I have an idealized view of it all precisely because I’ve only ever had my imagination to go from – all attempts to belong to ‘another tribe’ on any vector inevitably reaches the inner boundaries of blood or history that I cannot cross and there, against the membrane, I jostled until even I could no longer pretend that it was going to change.
After all this time, I still miss it. For all my intermittent “swearings off”, I think I will carry the negative space, the imprint of the missing, only imagined, the rest of my life; I cannot find the way to put it down.
I want the memory wipe, I do. Make of my memories an eternal sunshine, a spotless mind, just like in the movies. I’m pretty sure I could go the rest of my life without encountering any one forgotten, so infinitely dedicated to distance as so many seem.
Must be admitted, though, how useless I’m feeling lately. I suppose I am descending to stereotype after all. How ridiculous.
So mad at the clock