Sunday, June 2, 2013

On Breaking Up

The land was dark and spring was over, and somewhere to my east was Manhattan, and somewhere to my west was Minnesota, and somewhere up above me was my soul, intangible as ether, but as certain as the stone in my stomach, and I had to ask myself, Was this my life?

I had just come out of a break-up that seemed destined to bring about my ruination. Or so it seemed because I had placed someone else's happiness on a pedestal as my Higher Power than all-good encompassing, all loving God. And while she had flighted away to Vegas to revel in sin and debauchery and forgetfulness at my sickly worn face that she could no longer stand, I sat somewhere in the middle of defunct rage and forlorn grievance that A) I had brought this upon myself and B) I continued to bring everything upon myself. And my choice was the deciding factor and albeit benefactor, whatever the consequence...which connotates both good and bad, which I love that a word can sit somewhere in the gray middle of good and bad in a world that is decidedly neither.

What I mean to say is, I thought I was going to marry this girl. I still might. It may just be a short goodbye or long goodbye, but a goodbye is a goodbye in the same sense that I can say goodbye to my mother before a flight from visiting her in Minnesota and hop on a plane that might crash and burst into a hundred thousand nebula nothings…or I might arrive safe back in the New Jersey Palisades to see through another day despite riding upon a winged time bomb of human errors.

And so that is what I intended to do. Remove the errors from my life.

I am twenty-five going on twenty-six in a matter of days with a brain that hurts because it thinks too much. And I don't want to be a Bukowski or a Kerouac or even a Hemingway because their nihilism came from the least of the human experience—that is drunken stupor and soul dampening drugs.

That’s not to say I haven’t popped a Xanny or four in the past couple of days to ease the sometimes torrential regret, it’s just to say that I’m working on not combining that with a cocktail or six.

I want to wake up every morning next to someone and breathe in the name of God and then just spit it out like fire into their heart: to give back more than the breath of life but the breath of purpose; to exalt someone and praise them not as my golden calf, but as my golden half.

I also wanted someone who would be there for me when a life event occurs, like a death in the family. 

I saw nothing in the distance but truth and beauty, running away into the sunset and ignoring my too stretched soul which clung to the past like a shadow of self-loathing, distrust, and everything I abhorred about me from the blackheads on my nose to the black holes that spattered my heart, spilt like liquid charcoal on a long chapter I no longer wanted to read but had dog eared because it's what I had always turned to in times of tribulation.

Goodbye libation.

It was time to close that chapter of my life. Hell, it was time to start a new book. 

I didn't want to be a casualty of  circumstance anymore. I didn't want to be constantly checking my feet or neck and saying to my executioner, You didn't kill me, you just tied my neck to a tree. The rope was too short and gravity lasted too long.

I was tired of excusing error, both mine and someone else's.