Thursday, March 11, 2010


It is amazing how weird little events can reset the brain clock, so to speak. Yesterday was a day where even I say to myself "You can't make this sh*t up." Without going through every minor detail, which would be tedious and tragic and just too much since I am here with only my first cup of coffee in me, and my stomach is making threatening noises, I have surmised that life is both a tsunami and a breeze.
The tsunami is the gulping for air being hit by various sea creatures and debris and, of course, water, water, water.
The breeze is light, objects are still flying around but they won't hurt you, it's just movement.

I had coffee with someone yesterday, I don't even know how to categorize him, so I won't. I just know that he and I are linked and will probably know each other forever until the sun blows up, maybe even beyond. There is a bubble around us most times, and then, time's up, it's over and we both go back to our totally separate lives. Again, there are no words, just metaphors to describe these meetings.
We parted ways, me feeling reassured that I am, in fact, a good person after all, and that I do bring positivity to others. That's the point at which I drove to the hospital to visit my little brother who was admitted the night before for heart "stuff", surprise, surprise....
So began the tsunami. I walked into the room and for a minute, I didn't see him, I saw only a sheet and his body was a shadow, still as a ghost, as if that was the real him. I held my breath and blinked and there he was in all his stubborn glory but I saw that shadow.
Later, in the hallway, must have been something about sitting in the chair, I almost lost my composure and there were sobs that I quickly had to cover before going back into the room. Thank god for sunglasses.
A bit shaken, but still fortified, I went to pick up the kids at Mom's, where I was informed somewhat casually that one of my students had been killed in a car accident the night before, in fact that they had brought her to the ER after my brother was admitted. Then the real sobbing began, and continued in spurts all through the evening. This, clearly, is the tsunami filling up my lungs (or it could have been the 15 cigarettes I had yesterday, on the sly, because I had to "get something from the garage").
By the time sleep came, I was dehydrated and waiting for another breeze or something, just to be at peace.
And, at 4 am, the dog puked all over the kitchen. Not quite a breeze, but it did reset the clock a little. Cleaning it up was lovely. Normal.
I want to tell my brother, in all his stubborn self-destructive behavior, that that girl dying was a trade, and that he better make good on his trade.
I'll wait until the beach is quiet again, and breezy, before I tell him.

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