2002-12-09 - 8:02 p.m.
It was the drive away that got me. It always is. Those first few moments are all right because the momentum of the action is still clinging to me, the way the warmth of the train stays wrapped around me even after I've taken several steps out into the cold.
But a few seconds later the weight of my action will settle in on me and I am forced to face myself, a few seconds later I will be cold.
I drove away from filing for divorce giggling at the phrase "STOP! Hermit time!" that still rung in my head. Then it came ... the weight. But it wasn't weight, it was nakedness. I felt that I had been stripped, cracked open and peeled, and my clothes were too much to bear on such raw and new skin. I felt open and defenseless, alone. I leaned my head back against the headrest and chose not to light another cigarette. I let the feeling wrap around me and settle in. I brought up the faces of the others in my life and found that they were no solace. So I sat, and drove through the rain and through the rawness.
I got "home" and turned off the car, listening to John Lennon sing "In my life". About half way through the song I started hiccuping ... crying but shedding no tears. i grimaced as the ... something wrapped itself around my ribs and held on. The song ended and "Grey Street" by Dave Matthews began. it was at this point that I decided to get out of the car and get the hell on with it.
The house is empty. I'm listening to Sheryl Crow the way I was the day I decided, once and for all, to leave my husband. I had been out walking in the cold Portland October, smoking. I had gone to the river side and sang. My hands were freezing but my voice was warm and, though my ears were protected by the headphones, my song was a smooth alto offering. It was also that day that I knew I would return to this river, to Portland.
But it was the flight that got me. Fear, pain, excitement, guilt. All the colors mix together to grey.
So here I type, still feeling a bit vulnerable and cherishing the feeling. Just as I cherish the clairty of my deciding moment, in the park by the river. Just as I cherish the calm and reassurance as I realized that my heart could still beat ... a moment of peace and healing. That last, on a rooftop looking at a hazy San Francisco.
The best piece of advice is still "you handle it like you handle it". There are no rehearsals, it's all for keeps and so I get to keep this, everything before, and everything after.
Thank you.
Take care,
M
no quote today, nothing appropriate
