“McAwesome University has been founded to combat the high costs of useless degrees. Our motto? Higher education at low, low prices.”
Archive for February, 2007
i haven’t had a glass of wine since last Friday. haven’t had an Ambien since last Thursday. because of my rib-crushing mishap of Saturday morning, the lovely bottle of bubbly i had chilling in the refrigerator for that evening is still languishing. prettily languishing. it’s so very sad.
now, don’t get me wrong, i haven’t been on the wagon these last few days. no, good goddess, NO. in fact, been stoned out of my senses on Vicodin and super-duper-high-powered Ibuprofen. around the clock. it numbs the pain, true, and i can’t complain about that. however, it certainly isn’t my kind of intoxication. first of all, i can’t sleep. and when i do, i can’t wake up. secondly, it’s not a fuzzy, hallucinating, feel-good kind of stoned. it’s more of a mean, depressing, i-wanna-kill-myself-more-than-usual type of stoned. not good.
so, i’m kicking the junk today—before it’s added to my pharmaceutical menagerie of must-haves. after all, what good’s an addiction if it doesn’t make you happy…
i suffer from extreme idiocy. this is a fact. because of this unfortunate condition, i do stupid things. in a grandly stupid fashion.
so, yesterday i fell down a flight of stairs and broke ribs, tore cartilage and added to my already formidable collection of bruises.
breathing hurts. being an idiot hurts more.
easy to see how overdoses happen.
can’t remember how many pills i’ve taken.
right now i want to fight. wanna take him on with bodies—not words. want to match muscle and wits.
right now, i want to fight. with words and emotion. make him break. for once.
him. my match. in this second half. fucking geography. and fucking him.
my husband. mine. someone to whom your life has been entrusted. someone who belongs to you.
and one day—maybe after years of small things—it’s gone.
i wish we could go back. not to last year or even two or three years ago. rather, i wish we could go back years and years. i wish we could go back far enough to a time when all the shit could still be overcome.
and i miss him. after all of this, i do.
and for the first time in the last few weeks, i’m crying.
i loved him.
he held me–as we liked to say–tight all through the night a few nights before he left for his new place. for the first time in a long time, his touch was such a welcome feeling. his body next to mine, so familiar and comforting.
why couldn’t you have tried harder?
i asked you.
my baby is beautiful.
he’s darked-eyed and curled-hair and crooked-smiled. he’s small and big and can lift me in his arms and carry me to the couch.
my baby is dirty.
he says things that would make most of you blush. he says things that make me want him on every surface.
my son picked up a framed photograph from a box—we have just moved—and said, “This is a really tacky frame.” i laughed and replied, “Yup. That’s why i have it.” He looked at me with my own cocked eyebrow and i continued, “Dude, i like the ridiculous and the beautiful…”
the absurd and the beautiful can exist in equal profundity. i tried to explain. exist together without constructed irony.
regarding a photograph of him. taken in a hotel room. his hair is long and curled–not arranged yet.
i’m in bed. camera ready and waiting (he doesn’t like non-orchestrated photographs). he opens the bathroom door and i warn him of the impending snapshots. he pauses in the doorway, humouring me. he smiles. he is serious. he goofs around with tongue out. i shoot it all.
i want him back in bed.