i was standing in the kitchen, back twisted slightly so i could see my back in the mirror in the north bathroom, when my stomach twinged again, reminding me of yesterday, curled up and convulsing on the floor, hating my own sadness while relying upon others to save me from myself from hundreds of miles away.
the tears were fresh on my right cheek, real tears and not the soreness that comes from when i usually cry. i was savoring the wetness; normally, my sobs are hot and dry, so much so that i wish for the tears, throwing my masculinity aside as freely as i do my dignity, independence, and stability, so that i can actually have some sense of catharsis. i've gotten the tears more often in the past year than i've expected. it scares me that i need them so much.
watching American Splendor set it off, i skipped right to the "who is harvey pekar?" speech and i was pouring before giamatti even began, just the understanding of it, the illustration of the simplicity of complexity of life, the fact that someone had found a way to face it directly, and the fact that i am trying and failing to, all of that just opened it.
i'd gotten to my feet, walking into that north bathroom and looked at myself close-up, dry skin, two days unshaven, tears on my right side and snot easing its way out of my nose, hair spilling entirely too far onto my shoulders, which were beginning to firm up again. i backed up then, into the kitchen, twisting to see my back in overhead silvery sky light. it's getting better, back to what it was when i was really pushing it, my abs are starting to show again, my stomach is getting flatter--
the twinge caught, and i was so used to the feel it was more like a tickle, a hiccup that gently ruptures the fluid surface of your breath, and my brain remembered what my body had been trying to tell me.
my right knee protested only a little as i pushed off the third step, landing softly on the carpeted upper level of the house. the southern half of the house is far warmer than the north, primarily because of the heater located in-between my bedroom and the library. i stepped onto the scale in the guest bathroom before turning the light on.
178.
a week ago, i stood on the same scale, naked save for a pair of dark green drawstring pants, smiling and pensively optimistic, staring at the number 188 and pleased that i was one pound away from matching my driver's license.
i talked to allie this morning, she called last night while i was on the phone with katie, i had to end the conversation because i was nodding off and allie had left a voice mail, i called her back and she was occupied, so i went down to bed and waited for her to call back, phone next to my head, grateful for her, and mackenzie, and leeva, and khalil, all of whom saving my own pathetic life i can't save for myself even when i do try, and jason and the people i see every week who can't understand how much their friendship, or even acquaintance, keeps me going. i didn't hear her call me back almost an hour later, i was unconscious until i woke up at nine-thirty, calling her without even lifting my head from the pillow, burrowing under the covers like i used to do all those times when i was fifteen, loving danielle and not being loved in return.
now we know, and we can remember and advise and support, like friends do when they need to.
the tears were fresh on my right cheek, real tears and not the soreness that comes from when i usually cry. i was savoring the wetness; normally, my sobs are hot and dry, so much so that i wish for the tears, throwing my masculinity aside as freely as i do my dignity, independence, and stability, so that i can actually have some sense of catharsis. i've gotten the tears more often in the past year than i've expected. it scares me that i need them so much.
watching American Splendor set it off, i skipped right to the "who is harvey pekar?" speech and i was pouring before giamatti even began, just the understanding of it, the illustration of the simplicity of complexity of life, the fact that someone had found a way to face it directly, and the fact that i am trying and failing to, all of that just opened it.
i'd gotten to my feet, walking into that north bathroom and looked at myself close-up, dry skin, two days unshaven, tears on my right side and snot easing its way out of my nose, hair spilling entirely too far onto my shoulders, which were beginning to firm up again. i backed up then, into the kitchen, twisting to see my back in overhead silvery sky light. it's getting better, back to what it was when i was really pushing it, my abs are starting to show again, my stomach is getting flatter--
the twinge caught, and i was so used to the feel it was more like a tickle, a hiccup that gently ruptures the fluid surface of your breath, and my brain remembered what my body had been trying to tell me.
my right knee protested only a little as i pushed off the third step, landing softly on the carpeted upper level of the house. the southern half of the house is far warmer than the north, primarily because of the heater located in-between my bedroom and the library. i stepped onto the scale in the guest bathroom before turning the light on.
178.
a week ago, i stood on the same scale, naked save for a pair of dark green drawstring pants, smiling and pensively optimistic, staring at the number 188 and pleased that i was one pound away from matching my driver's license.
i talked to allie this morning, she called last night while i was on the phone with katie, i had to end the conversation because i was nodding off and allie had left a voice mail, i called her back and she was occupied, so i went down to bed and waited for her to call back, phone next to my head, grateful for her, and mackenzie, and leeva, and khalil, all of whom saving my own pathetic life i can't save for myself even when i do try, and jason and the people i see every week who can't understand how much their friendship, or even acquaintance, keeps me going. i didn't hear her call me back almost an hour later, i was unconscious until i woke up at nine-thirty, calling her without even lifting my head from the pillow, burrowing under the covers like i used to do all those times when i was fifteen, loving danielle and not being loved in return.
now we know, and we can remember and advise and support, like friends do when they need to.