Posts Tagged ‘mom’

I wake up wearing my bikini and jewelry and I know that it is my mother who has been dead for six years and Beverage, the boy who has half hazardless dated me for 4 months that is to blame.

It’s always a bad day. And I fight w the urge to not get out of bed to pull the covers over my head and cry and be in pain. Or take a vicodin or an ambien, to numb away the pain of missing you to hush the regret and the remorse of not being with you.

This year I gained perspective the day before your anniversary. I looked at you and I remembered that you got your heart broken. And not just one heartbreak, but repeatedly broke. Again and again as you waited for someone to be someone they just couldn’t be. Or wouldn’t. I mean, really, what incentive did he have to be better.

And then I thought of Beverage, who per his actions seemed 100% into me. But who had told me he didn’t want to be in a relationship w me. Who was in a cloud like trance, oblivious that he had made me cry, made me question myself, that I was a girl and we don’t just casually date and screw w/o wanting more. And I thought of mom, and knew that life was much too short to have someone break your heart over again. Actions might speak louder than words, but when someone tells you that they don’t want to be in relationship w/ you, I think those words are worth listening to. And so I wrote.

Dear Beverage, I’m not happy with things the way they are. If you want me in your life you need to start acting like it or else I need to move on. I’m starting to feel like a hooker sleeping with someone when we are not in a committed relationship. I don’t want to be w something that is ok w not seeing me for a week. It’s been 4 months. I have no idea how you feel about me. I don’t want to be hurt. If you don’t know if you want to be w me that’s a pretty good indication you don’t.

So….. I need you to figure out whether you want to be my friend or something more. I can’t keep giving my time and frigging awesome body (including amazing sex and world class blow jobs) to some who can’t figure out whether they want to be in a relationship w me.

And then send. And then silence and peace and the anxiety melting through me as I recovered my sense of control. And then the phone rang, and Beverage didn’t want to be in a relationship. And he thought he had been upfront w me, although the all expenses paid trip to Santa Monica and company vacations he’d bring me on would suggest otherwise. And what kind of nonboyfriend asks for your input on the grocery list? Or sends you pictures of the food they cook? Or kisses your forehead and holds you like they never want you to let go?

But I think sometimes your words can be more powerful than such actions and I want a boy who is proud to call me his boyfriend and can’t help himself from being in a relationship w me and can’t keep the words “I love you” from coming out of his mouth. And so I don’t fight it like I might have 6 years ago (ala I KNOW YOU LOVE ME, you’re going to regret this blah blah) and I say ok, ok, and ok and goodbye.

So we celebrate dead mommy and we send her our love and say silent prayers that her true love was answered in another life and say silent promises/pleads to ourselves in our quietest voices in our head that we will find the love in this life and not settle for anything less. And we hold our breath.

We drink too many saketinis and don’t eat enough sushi. A new boy comes to meet me but he is not my Beverage and I ask him can we please share a cab home but him pay for it and not come with us. And Thelma and I come home, but I tell her we are not done, and we pour glasses of wine and scream at the ceiling to Mom that we love her, and miss her, to take care of us…. And in retrospect I don’t know that that’s the type of tribute that she’d want. But we toast her the only way we can and we clink our glasses together and I don’t remember it but we toast mom and when I wake up there is wine on the white couch, wine on Thelma’s sweatpants and wine on the floor. And there I am in my bikini and jewelry and the timing is shit and I remember that when it rains it pours but how the fuck did I end up underwater?

And when I come out I know it’s ok to be down – that within these raw moments I am able to appreciate the contrasting state and bliss of being up again. And I can taste the air outside the water and I realize I so appreciate the oxygen. And today you know that’s good enough for me, to just be here, feeling, and breathing in and out.


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