My thought for today was that I might should start keeping a journal for and to S. In it, I could write all the dark secrets, poignant and probably pitiful memories I've stored from our time together, all the hopes I'd pinned on our future. At the least, I'd have a safe, private outlet for these relentless thoughts that don't seem to be going anywhere, much less away. At best, my life would end, hopefully after many years of living fully and some unsuspecting granddaughter would stumble across a tome of love letters, both poignant and pitiful at once. She would share it with her sister and they would weep for the love their grandmother knew, so briefly, but so deeply. I love my imagination sometimes.
Today's entry would be:
I think I want to start a journal, just for all the things I want to say to you but can't.
It'd go like this:
August 6, 2010
Dear S,
I must be PMSing. I keep crying, oh, about every 2 hours today. The tears will fall and then something will distract me and I'll feel a bit better. It's gotta be PMS. Right now "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" is making me cry. Why? It can't be BJ Thomas, although his voice certainly is smooth and sexy when he says..."cryin's not for meee". Maybe it's the cheesy horn interlude, that's enough to make anyone cry. Maybe it's the Robert Redford connection? My mom did love him so.
Maybe it's because every goddamned thing in this world somehow reminds me of you.
It started with this song that I heard randomly on the radio. Willie's voice and the words, "If you had not have fallen, then I would not have found you..." I suppose you are the angel. You flew off. But did I find you or you me? Oh well, matters not. Bigger life questions to ponder.
At the grocery store today, I smelled the Old Spice Pure Sport. Ridiculous, I know. But it makes me feel happy in a really sad way. My throat clenched when I smelled it, like I had to gasp a bit for breath. Still the grocery store reminds me of you. We shopped together on the phone a lot...I could multi task, remember?
We are meeting with a bankruptcy attorney soon. We're broke, really broke. So broke that when I paid for my groceries, I was afraid my card would be rejected. My other one was twice. I don't even know how to be poor. Images of me having to choose between my hummus and my reduced fat feta cheese flashed before my eyes. Egads!! Either way, I knew I had to have my extra long, overnight maxi pads. Those bitches were staying. But, yeah, we are so broke we can't get a divorce yet. Limbo a little longer.
I saw a little, old lady at the store buying a lottery ticket. I thought about buying you one (yeah, I still think things like that) and I couldn't remember your numbers. 19, 24, 27?? I can't remember. You're slipping away, things like that, and I can't...I just can't let that happen.
I almost call you about 20 times a day. I want to hear your voice again. Do you know why I don't? I'm terrified. Petrified. I never dreamed I'd be scared of you. But, I am. What if you sound like a stranger to me? Or worse, what if you are mean to me? What if you don't talk to me? So, I don't call. Even on my loneliest days. Even when there is no one I'd rather talk to but you.
There are so many little things I'd say. I have so many things to tell you, to ask you, to talk to you about. I'm not even mad at you.
I miss you. I love you. I always will.
I suppose the last thing I'd write is..."Wow, you're wife was right. I guess I am a big loser who just sits around all day writing emails or in journals." Damn, hate it when people peg me.
Hoping you are well,
K
When I read the second paragraph, I swear 'Bridges of Madison County' came into my head. Actually, the movie did.
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