Narrative Mostly-Freewriting #2

I stopped posting my writing a long time ago. It was discouraged for many years because it was painted as a selfish indulgence. Now it’s encouraged because I feel good when I write.

And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be
The door always must be left unlocked
To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you
And not to spend the time just doubting

Howard Jones, “What is Love?”

I always liked that song, but I never realized just how true it is. That verse means a lot to me, because it describes my present way more than my past. There’s a big difference between letting someone think you’re letting them live the way they want to and actually letting them make the choices they need to make without protest. I actually have the kind of love I thought I had for 18 years. It’s wonderful.

It’s just after sunset when I walk out of the gym. I went to the nice one near work, because it’s more conducive to getting more stretching done than the one near home. Plus I couldn’t find sunglasses and I don’t want to be driving into the setting sun.

I have a habit of doing bicycle crunches to the song “I’m a Man” by the Spencer Davis Group. That song became one of my grooves after it was in the 1st episode of the 7th season of Mad Men. Plus the organ is just groovy.

It’s a bit more traffic heading home from the gym at this time, but the gym has a better vibe and better equipment. Though I don’t like the stationary bike’s ability to tell me what I weigh. The scale can fuck with my head. 30 years ago, the first time the manual scale had to be transferred to the 100 block so I could get an accurate weight at the doctor’s, I freaked out. I was 14, and I didn’t weigh much over 100 pounds again until I was 26, when I finally got therapy for the anorexia I didn’t realize I had all those years.

When I get to a certain point in my commute, I shift into neutral and try to coast as much as I can. It’s harder to do with traffic, but I manage a mile or two today. I love being able to do that. Never thought I’d have another manual transmission, but I’m not complaining. I learned about 20 years ago.

Shuffling though my playlist on my route home, I stumble upon Steely Dan’s “FM”, the title song to a 1978 movie about a scrappy little FM Radio station that encounters some Big Corporate interference and how the employees scheme to get their point made. With a happy ending, of course. I have it on VHS somewhere. I even have a TV/VCR combo to watch it on. Not sure when I’ll dig that stuff out.

I think the meds are working. Most nights I get decent sleep, and my body’s slowly adjusting to the daytime med. I’m not dwelling on bad thoughts as much, at least. Should have gotten these months ago. I know my friend Golden Ears would have suggested it, but he’s been gone since last April. His death started to reopen the painful wounds I’ve been avoiding. But that was him, holding people’s feet to the fire when it was merited. Sometimes when I’m working, doing the type of work he mentored me on 20 years ago, I can hear him laughing, faintly.

I get home, drop off my stuff on my bed, and head to the computer to write.

Don’t leave false illusions behind
Don’t cry cause I ain’t changing my mind
So find another fool like before
Cause I ain’t gonna live anymore believing
Some of the lies while all of the signs are deceiving

The Alan Parsons Project, “Eye in the Sky”

Those lyrics are filling my ears as I type this. They remind me of my late husband Kevin at the end of his life. For a few years, he tried to get me to accept the fact that the pain he was in was getting to be too much and he wanted to have a say in when it was time for him to go. For the last year or so of Kevin’s life, each morning after a particularly bad day, I would look outside at the trees to see if he was hanging from one. I’d have to wait for his text to let me know he was up (and alive). Once the last cat died, I accepted what was going to happen because I knew he was miserable, and I felt terrible that he was only around to save me the pain of losing him. He died knowing I’d forgive him, just under 6 months later.

I’ve been trying to move on these 5 1/2 years, but it hasn’t been easy. 3 years ago I finally allowed myself to get really angry at him, and I’ve done my best not to allow myself to feel the pain of the loss. Short-sighted of me to do that. Now that I pretty much have no choice but to deal with this or let it destroy me, it’s a little easier. I’ll allow myself to get caught in sense memory and feel the loss. I’m determined to be able to listen to certain songs without getting overwhelmed with grief.

So hard to laugh a child-like giggle
When the tears start to torture my mind
So hard to shed the life of before
To let my soul automatically soar

But I hit hard at the battle that’s confronting me, yeah
Knock down all the road blocks a-stumbling me
Throw off all the shackles that are binding me down

The Beach Boys, “Long Promised Road”

I never would have loved that song as much as I do without him. He was the one who hunted down the album “Surf’s Up” on vinyl to replace the copy that got warped decades earlier. Those lyrics have comforted me for at least 20 years, come to think of it. I forget how much time has passed. They comfort me now, and remind me that I can process the 18 years he was in my life and finally make peace with them. At least I can listen to this album. As I’ve mentioned before, I love the album “Pet Sounds”, but it’s still too painful. I suppose as part of my therapy I should start listening to it so I can feel the damn pain already and move on and grow into a healthier version of myself.

2 thoughts on “Narrative Mostly-Freewriting #2

  1. I really liked what you wrote. So much rang true, with lyrical references to boot! Someone earlier posted a question about pieces of music that made you cry. Like memories, they can catch you unaware and you don’t always recognize why, but it’s genuine and cathartic and confusing. There I go, with Bruce in my head, sobbing as I lay here. Sometimes, in the middle of writing lyrics of listening to some random song — it all comes back. But we can’t turn it off, can we? That hurts more. I have to stop, gotta get up to take wife to work in a few hours. Hers hoping the rest of this week, year, lifetime will be brighter and happier for all. Later, gator.. 😀

    1. Yes, turning it off hurts way more.
      Hope time helps with the loss of Bruce. There’s so much I wish I could tell him.

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