Not crazy about the 4th
Just another day of work and packing. I was going to get some nice foods to grill or some shit later but I just don't care enough to eat.
Last year the 4th of July was... complicated. It started out great, got weird, got very emotionally treacherous, then very bad, then, I don't know. It seemed perfect. She had a traumatic memory attached to the day and it seemed like maybe we, I don't know, we didn't fix it, but we made a better one. We ended up on the fire escape sharing a beer and watching all the different streets compete, taking turns launching ever-escalating fireworks displays. We were both wrung out but she was smiling, happy. It was the first time she'd been to my place. The first time anybody but my best friend had ever been in my place. I let her into my home, which I never, ever do, for anyone. We were built on trust, giving each other access to parts of ourselves we'd never given over to anyone before. Or that's what I'd thought.
And today-- like every other day-- I have that sense that maybe she'll contact me, email or text or call, maybe today she'll acknowledge that we ever happened, that we ever mattered. But I know she won't, and we didn't.
And packing stinks. I find photos of people I'd blanked out of my memory. I find love notes lost behind shelves. The worst thing; I found a clutch of opened bags of cat treats, diet supplements and OTC meds. Both cats died almost exactly a year ago. The thing that made my eyes overflow wasn't seeing the treats and the medication that didn't help-- I knew all that stuff was there, stuffed into the back of the cupboard.
The thing that made me cry was seeing them and knowing that I was about to throw them into the garbage. It's happening again right now. I'm leaving a lot behind here. And I know I'll always have them in my heart blah blah but I'm leaving a whole huge chunk of my life behind and I'll miss them the most.
Last year the 4th of July was... complicated. It started out great, got weird, got very emotionally treacherous, then very bad, then, I don't know. It seemed perfect. She had a traumatic memory attached to the day and it seemed like maybe we, I don't know, we didn't fix it, but we made a better one. We ended up on the fire escape sharing a beer and watching all the different streets compete, taking turns launching ever-escalating fireworks displays. We were both wrung out but she was smiling, happy. It was the first time she'd been to my place. The first time anybody but my best friend had ever been in my place. I let her into my home, which I never, ever do, for anyone. We were built on trust, giving each other access to parts of ourselves we'd never given over to anyone before. Or that's what I'd thought.
And today-- like every other day-- I have that sense that maybe she'll contact me, email or text or call, maybe today she'll acknowledge that we ever happened, that we ever mattered. But I know she won't, and we didn't.
And packing stinks. I find photos of people I'd blanked out of my memory. I find love notes lost behind shelves. The worst thing; I found a clutch of opened bags of cat treats, diet supplements and OTC meds. Both cats died almost exactly a year ago. The thing that made my eyes overflow wasn't seeing the treats and the medication that didn't help-- I knew all that stuff was there, stuffed into the back of the cupboard.
The thing that made me cry was seeing them and knowing that I was about to throw them into the garbage. It's happening again right now. I'm leaving a lot behind here. And I know I'll always have them in my heart blah blah but I'm leaving a whole huge chunk of my life behind and I'll miss them the most.