Long Distance Drunk

Why do we get a little crazy when the people we can’t stop thinking about don’t reply to our texts for hours?

You made a lot of “we” comments today. I don’t care if I’m being a romantic. I really like it.
I dread the day that “we” are no more. It’s coming too soon, too fast.


Gimme A Sign

The question I think I hate the most is:

Can I see your glasses?

Yes, just look at my face.
Oh! You meant, can I remove my security blanket, the small piece of equipment worn over my eyes that help me see five inches in front of my face, so you can put your fingerprints and facial grease all over it, blink sporadically through the lenses, and make any one of these ignorant comments:

Wow! Your eyes really are bad!

Do these make me look smarter?

Can you see now?

Yes, dipshit, my eyes really are that bad. I tried to explain that to you during the fifteen minutes you asked to see my glasses. I’ve needed a progressively stronger prescription every year since I was nine years old.
No, you don’t look smarter, you bimbo. You look ridiculous, squinting through my grandma glasses.
Go ahead, ask me one more time if I can see without my prescription glasses. And then I’ll ask you the same question after I’ve smacked that shit eating grin off your face.

So, as you’ve probably deduced, my glasses are beyond important to me. You can see how I react when I’m pressed and pressured into handing them over to a friend for five minutes.
Now imagine me losing them…

I’m usually pretty good at remembering where I’ve put them down before bed, a shower, makeup application…sex.
But, let’s go back, before face paint and intercourse, to junior high. The pressure to fit in is already on full blast from every direction. La-dee-da me takes my glasses off for a shower and sets them down in a spot I don’t normally leave them in. And when I walk back into my room, I can’t see a damn thing, and I’ve completely forgotten where I’ve set my vision enhancers.
First, there’s panic. The kind you get in that split second before the big drop on a roller coaster, where you feel like someone has reached their arm down your throat and taken a hold of your stomach. I’m zooming around my room looking in every place I’ve left them before. A good minute or two passes and I’ve moved beyond panic.
Cue sheer terror. The kind that makes your life flash before your eyes.


Or at least for twenty minutes while my family helps me look for my better set of eyeballs. I won’t be able to see anything. People will laugh at me. I will be embarrassed.
And then come the tears. At least the beginnings of it. Now I’m just incredibly sad.
I’m begging God, Please help me…please I need my glasses! I need my…

Oh, there they are.

Space Travel Is Boring

There is this thing you do. Whenever you start to tell me a story. I think it helps you recall a memory. You rub your thumb against your fingers. Like the gesture people do to imply something monetary. It’s like when people look around the room or snap their fingers. I think it helps you concentrate. Maybe pushes your focus into a different part of your mind.

I really hope it doesn’t turn into one of those things I find irritating. Because right now, it makes me smile.

Somehow, Someday


I think I have a hard time letting go of the past. It’s sort of this Radio Flyer I’ve got tied around my waist. No matter where I go or who I’m with, it’s always trailing right behind me. And every memory, experience, every person from my past is crammed into this little red wagon.
I think I’ve let it become a crutch, as well as a burden. Something I can look back on whenever things aren’t going particularly well. I can sift through the piles of garbage and pick out something to feed the beast that helps me feel sorry for myself. I’m finally at the point where I realize it’s time to retire this tired, rusted cart. I need to find a secluded, empty field. Dig a gaping hole in the ground. Pull the pieces out, one by one. Give each one its time, then toss it in the hole. Bury it out where no one will find it. Forget where I buried it. And walk away. Never return. Because what I do today, that is what makes me. Not the Radio Flyer. Not this person or that. Not this choice or that. Because that is all behind me now. Where it belongs. The burn marks left from where you hurt me have healed. I will not let you, a stranger to me now, rule my life, my head, or my heart.

Oh My Sweet Carolina

I’m lying beside you, on this tiny bed meant only for one. But we’ve managed to squeeze ourselves onto it. I can feel you twitching against me as you fall asleep. But I just lie with eyes open, because I can’t fall asleep here. I focus as hard as I can on the soft light coming in through the window.
You shift next to me and I realize I had closed my eyes for what might have been a second, or a minute. I can’t tell. I’m just a little shocked at being awoken, because I can’t fall asleep here.
You look at me as you turn and ask, What are you thinking about?
I say, Nothing.
But of course, that isn’t true. I can’t tell you what happened though. I can’t tell you that in that second that my eyes were closed, I went somewhere else.
At first, I couldn’t see where I was. There was a light, one far brighter than the one coming in through your window. And a warmth, beyond what your mink blanket was giving me. I could feel…sunlight. The light of the sun in my eyes, and it’s tingling heat on my cheeks, the tip of my nose, the tops of my shoulders, my legs. Once I adjusted to the light, there you were. Standing beside me. Looking off into the distance. What were you looking at? I wondered for a brief moment, and then the wonder disappeared. Because you turned to look at me. You looked right at me and smiled. That smile, it was more than just a friendly gesture. It was telling me something. It was telling me,
We’re here.
We made it.
Isn’t this amazing and beautiful?
And I realized where we were. Atop a mountain ledge. We had just hiked all day to this spot, and now we’re here. I may have complained about a thing or two along the way, but we made it. All I could see was land, unadulterated and untouched earth. For as far as the eye could see. It stretched out beyond the horizon in any direction you looked. A small creek here, and a tired but stubborn tree there. The entrance to a cave, and the path we and so many others have traveled to find this place. This amazing and beautiful place.
I look back at you and smile. You haven’t taken your eyes off me. And I realize where I am.
We’re here.
We made it.
Isn’t this amazing and beautiful?
And I realize when we are. We stayed together for years, and now we’re here. We had a fight or two along the way, but we made it. All I can see is you. And you see me. And we are amazing and our life is beautiful.
You shift next to me and I open my eyes.