Keep Dropping the Hammer and Grinding the Gears

My friend started these little vignettes and I find them so inspiring, so I thought to do a few myself from time to time.

Some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia. I have my feet up on that same ottoman I'll have to replace soon. I'm living on coffee, booze, the gym, not much else right now. I can't stop this damn cough that makes me wonder if I've got cancer or something.

A coworker stopped me today, knowing nothing of the situation, to ask if I'd lost a bunch of weight. How good I look. My body feels like shit. My heart is happy for the most part. My soul feels like scorched earth. It's clean, but it's tender.
 
I'm gathering the people who love me and who have supported me close around. I'm getting back to the people I shut out. The good ones, anyhow. Not that the bad ones haven't tried.

What surprises me these days is that I can tell the difference. I've learned to be more discriminating about who I let near me. Who I let hurt me. To love is to say "you will hurt me" and do it anyway. The people you let close will always hurt you. It's the cost. The wages of love is hurt I hope I never stop being willing to hurt.

I'm truly not unhappy. All things considered, I'm just fine. I'm better than fine. There's so much big, drastic change happening. It can be a lot. It can be too much. It feels like the universe is swirling around in its own kind of pattern. Things fall into place and make so much sense, but I never see them coming. Like fractals that I can't quite grasp the math of. Skeptical as I am, it makes me wonder what else is out there that I just don't understand.

I found out that my case has been pushed to next month's pro se calendar. I can't wait for this particular nightmare to end. The bardo, indeed. But I will not stop breathing, living, loving, dancing in the dining room to records I don't know. I will be vibrantly, largely, loudly, wonderfully, and perfectly me through all this. I'm too tired of trying to be anything else. Please keep your arms and legs inside the car until the ride comes to a complete stop.

True kismet is that today is the first day it could possibly have all been over. And Friday, down to the date, a Friday the 13th, will be six years since it all started. The same show. The same opener. The same. Hopefully better. Wiser. Older. But also more tender. Softer. In the best ways. But boundaries like a motherfucker.

I won tickets to see my favorite bands at the Mother Church. All falling apart and all coming together at the same time. I still can't believe it's just chance. It's too organized for that. Things falling into place in too perfect an order just as things fell out of place in the same way.
 
Thank y'all for making it this far. I love most the people who hear me. Those who try to understand. Some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia.

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