"- don't be so quick to knock it. People don't usually part with the weird shit they personally know because they know how easy it will be to punch holes in. Now I'm tellin you somethin. It's for you to poke through the soup and find the meat." John Patrick Shanley's 'the dreamer examines his pillow'

Wednesday, June 07, 2006


what an interesting night...
I spent the night at Katelyn's house.
All stressed, she calls. "where's my key?"
I have a key to her house. We're lovers :)
I smile. "yes, I'm coming. you locked yourself out."
she's covered in questions, in a state of I-don't-know and this is all too much on my head and in my body...
I dash to her, sweating in my pants and pajamas. Laying on the brick, she's laughing the releasing laugh of nowhere else to go but laughter, on the phone with a friend. We get in. We clean. I clean. She showers. I am angry.
At her for expecting so much of me. At me for not being able to be what she wants of me and what everyone else wants of me, which are very different things... what I want alienates her as I try to Just Be Real...
They don't like it either. It's not as much fun as deception.

But she still loves having me there - no, she loves me. no, she knows I'm there because I need to be. But I don't know this until tomorrow morning.
"Let me sleep for ten minutes," her voice is musical but oh so firm.
"promise you'll wake me up. no matter what."

I walk downstairs. Here, this is where I want to... I crawl down to the rough carpet, lay out on my back so I can feel my heart open to the air, I don't want to hide it (even though I don't really want to face it)

I wake to the sound of her alarm. I go up, frazzled, "nooo..." she pushes the air in front of her away with her hands, God, I have to let her sleep. She mumbles, she wakes again ten minutes later. I had stood in the room silent and weak, wondering how to be - to be forceful like she wanted or let her sleep like I wanted, like her breathing wants...
"please... I can't do this. I would go insane, Thank you" she keeps saying. "I'm gonna sleep. is that ok?" she asks. of course it's ok.
"Please climb in. you said you wanted to do this with me, and this what I'm doing so..."

I want to. I fold myself just under her chin, next to her tummy, she says "can I have your hand?" I take her hand. I hold it, awkward at different angles, my long white fingers over her Cuban...

full sleep. The alarm goes off at 8:30 am. I look into her hard, dark, warm, eyes - "thank you. you know if you hadn't been here, I wouldn't have been able to... you know?"
"I mean, I would have gone crazy. You know that, right?"
"yes." small smile on me.
she would have. she takes everything like it's death inside her, she experiences everything, and this stress has weighed down on her like ten tons of concrete - she would have flipped out. I realize that. She knows, and she closes her eyes self-consciously.

I look at her.
I can look at her face and send my eyes, my heart, my stomach, my hands, my pelvis, my muscles... all of them to love her smally and simply, with her eyes closed. I can love her, even though she hurt me. Even though I constantly hurt her through my lack of understanding.
I can. I've never been able to love -
and then she opens her eyes.

there I am. loving her with all of me, and I don't stop cause she can see it - I let it be there. She doesn't get how monumental it is for me. so I let it wash over her. no expectations.

of course we move on and misunderstand one another. these are all moments in life, no one greater than the other. but making mile-markers out of moments helps me remember that every day is not a circle - we discover more of ourselves when we allow ourselves to. life is terrible and beautiful.


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