Bent Words

Bent Words

October 08, 2020

December 01, 2009
Ya know, I'm just stuck.

I have all this time on my hands and yet I'm just stuck. Stuck wondering what I should be doing. I should be traveling to South Africa like Altmann. Seeing new landscapes, struggling with language, wondering if my belongings are going to get stolen if I don't act 'cool.' Thankful I don't have much for belongings because I'm waiting to see the world, the world is waiting to see me. Makeup and cute shoes be damned.

I should be writing a good story; witty, charming, satirical, romantic. The story I just can't spit out without giving everything away. I don't know how to tell it unless it's the utter truth but then who will know and who will see that which isn't supposed to be known or seen or acknowledged? Should I just not care anymore and write anyway -- even if it's crap? And then I start to tell the truth and I stop because I believe one sentence is crap. It's not good enough. It's not deep enough. It's too contrived. I don't know what to say, what to write, and so I just freeze.

And then I play mindless games.

I blame you for that. Yes, you. I went to your profile for who-knows-why (to see your face) and saw that you were playing some game called Bejeweled Blitz and now I can't stop opening up the stupid application and playing that stupid game until my eyes feel as though their going to get sucked out of my head by the damed computer screen. Hours float by as though on fast forward and I look at the time and suddenly five hours have been subtracted from what would be endless moments of not writing.


I also blame you for not being here, for not being available. Somehow I feel as though if you could hear me now I would feel less stuck. Maybe you'd have an answer. Perhaps you'd have an idea as to what in the world I'm trying to say in my round about way. You would laugh and I would forget that I'm stuck. You would listen and I wouldn't feel pressed for good company. You would tell me about your sadness or your frustrations and I would have that to hold onto instead of just trying to hold my own.

I should be at the Nice Ash wondering what to say while sitting next to someone who probably doesn't care all that much except there weren't any parking spaces available when I ventured down. I was going to park my car here and walk, as I normally do, passing the fire station to feel safe, but then the jewels started sparkling and a "new high score" captured my attention. Lame. Right? I should stop wondering if someday you'll venture down there yourself. But I do. I wonder.

I look toward the door as I've done so many times before in other places. The Hi-Hat, LuLu's, the shop. I used to put your name in my head and imagine your face and think as hard as I could with the hope that you'd feel me waiting for you, your name on my breath, and then wait until our eyes would hopefully meet at the door. The one time I didn't look -- the very first time I didn't have you smashed against my foremost thoughts -- I failed. At Rooter's. I knew for sure you wouldn't be there, that my mind tricks didn't work and that you didn't care and, then, there you were. Of course, whenever I least expect it. When I stop hoping; waiting; wishing; that's when you always surprised me. And what was I doing other than flirting with another man?!

Right. Fail.

But I've been stuck there, too. And I am stuck. I've tried and I've pretended to be over you but it's never the case. I can flirt but it's a mask. I can kiss but it's not the same (and how long is it now since that?!). I can write but the words can never portray quite precisely the feelings I'm still stuck inside. I can even offer to live with someone else -- and although it maybe be bliss for a little while-- it's not the same. It's not you.

I don't know what I would need to know to not be stuck, for I know so much. I don't know what could convince me more than what I've seen, what I've heard, what I know. I don't know how to shove you (impossible you) aside and move along. You were mad then but those times when I seemed not to care about you and pursued other interests (flirted, kept my distance, pretended to be happy); it wasn't because I was any further away from you than if you were sitting beside me. It wasn't because I was getting over you. It wasn't because you were out of my mind or falling away from my heart -- it was only because you had all of me and I only had a quarter of you. I didn't know how to convince you that I was so afraid of losing you when I never even knew if I had you in the first place and I was supposed to be this super tough motorcycle chick who didn't let things like that get to her and if you saw my fear I thought you'd only run away and then, when it was built up so high, so deep, that I couldn't even breathe anymore, I exploded. I did stupid things.

I got stuck.

Stuck in that tornado.

And inside that chaos, inside that perfect storm, I knew what was real when it was just you and me. Me and you and you and me. But, alone, that whirlwind would spit me out into unknown territory. I didn't know what it was for you -- life -- when you weren't sharing that small enclosed space with me. I didn't know what you went through, how you felt, where you were, what you needed when you weren't with me because you never told me what it was like. I saw glimpses but I was never invited all the way inside. So how could I know? I guessed. I struggled with my imagination. I sympathized. In the end all I had were pieces. I still have those pieces -- those beautiful pieces -- the ones which I dared to try to put together, the ones which I didn't. They're stuck inside me like shrapnel. I feel them moving around, holding their ground, relentless, as though someday they might again be whole.

But I know I should be moving along. I should be so far along and I should be past all of this. I should be able to get through an entire day without your name on my breath, your wellbeing on my mind, your lips in my dreams, your laughter as near as yesterday. I should be 'better' than this but when was I better than when I was with you? And I don't know what of a reason I can give since none of it seems reasonable, even to me, so I suppose I won't try. I'll just say that it's there, as it always has been and as it may always shall be. I know how it should be. I know how it is. I know it's impossible and I know I should be doing anything else with all this time but... ya know, I'm just stuck.

Written at 5:20 p.m.