Tag Archives: sadness

When “Things” Have Meanings

12 Dec


Came in last night to rehearsal, sporting an extra box of Kleenex and an eight-pack of Gatorade…knowing the kind of workout our sinuses and bodies would be going through, ahead of time.  Was greeted, mid-conversation, by our SM, who took one look a the Kleenex box and started to well up.  Apparently, “again”…as her eyes had that puffy-red, tell-sign of a hard day’s work already behind them.

“What’s wrong!” I naturally asked, moving forward.

“No!,” she knee-jerked back, not unkindly. “It just gets worse when people hug me.”

…Then, after a moment of containing herself…

“I lost my wedding ring at the gym today.”

…And that is really all that needs to be said, isn’t it? 

Her wedding ring.

…Now I have known several women who have found themselves in this place before, and even as jaded a human being as I admittingly am, I have to confess that the first thing that comes to mind is not, “well, fuck…I hope it was insured.”

I am a GIGANTIC sentimentalist. I could put almost anyone to shame (mostly myself) with the things that I hold onto…little, tiny, useless things…simply because of the meanings they hold for me.

“Memories” are a really big deal to me.

…So when someone says, “I lost my wedding ring,” it isn’t ever the dollar sign of the diamond that I think of. It’s the day he finally proposed…and the awesome story that goes along with it. It’s the memory of you both picking out the matching wedding bands. It’s those months, or weeks or days…spent preparing for that one single moment, where all your friends and families (or the very small collection of a few representatives), gathered together to celebrate the two of you, being “You.” And its all the days that lead up to it, and follow afterward.

…Because though I don’t believe in “marriage” personally for ME…I DO believe in the institution and the importance of a promise made to another person, that is intended to last the rest of your life.

It’s kind of a big deal.

…So as I watched her be upset and tell the story of the ring’s loss, and try to tame her sentimentality…I also watched her stand up for her right to own this sadness, despite if it made other people feel uncomfortable. As she reflected over the small army of fellow gym members, willingly giving of their time to help her look for it, she also noted a particular woman on the gym’s staff who seemed less than whelmed over the entire episode…over the loss of “just a thing which shouldn’t matter this much, as it is only a ring, and can be replaced…it’s not like a death or something.”

Pardon me?!

When Ma’s house was broken into last year, and the laundry list of items missing, first came to light…ask me how much energy was spent on the 42 inch TV and Bluray and Sterios and prescription pills?


…Who even gives a flying shit?

Our family home was invaded…so THAT freaks you out and pisses you off, of course…but what actually physically HURT…like the very insides of us, were the family heirlooms…totally and completely meaningless to these sorry excuses for human beings…that we will never get to see or touch again.

…Standing over a Police report of “stolen goods,” how the flying fuck do you put a price to those things, which are (to a Police report), just that: tangible goods, that may or may not have a legit street-worth, which may or may not end up in a local pawn shop, or on the girlfriend’s finger of the ass-hat who stole it. Sure, sometimes you do have to think practical about it, but that doesn’t mean the loss to you is any less than a total travesty.

“Things” have meanings.

…And somewhere, someone might be sporting a tiny treasure recently “found” in a gym shower or reception desk, or even the “lost and found” drawer…and to them, it’s “neat.”

That is all.

…This ring, (so we are told), doesn’t look like the stereotypical “Wedding” variety one usually sees. It doesn’t dazzle with mega-rock diamonds. It is small, and silver, and infinity-knotted. It is something a certain fella picked out and had imported from Ireland, for a certain somebody else. It was given with promises, and has been worn ever since, as a constant reminder of them…which is the entire point of a Wedding ring’s intent.

It is a devastating loss, for reasons you cannot put a price tag on, for reasons that you cannot just throw money at to replace.

…And I really hope, wherever it is right now, however it came to be “missing,” that it somehow finds it’s way back home again.

…And, (fierce supporter of my people and the things that matter most to them, that I am), I wish I could slap that one woman ‘cross the face with something…anything…that could make her see the totally asinine inappropriateness of her dismissive reaction.

(Hugs, “H”)


Advanced Retreat Into A Sunny Day

23 Sep


Like zero sleep last night. 

…Started off with a ridiculous cat in heat who decided to yowl right outside my bedroom window.  I kept telling her to shut the hell up and have some dignity, but she refused to listen to me.  Around two or so she must have stopped, cuz the next time I opened my eyes to look at the clock, it was five.  This time, it was Mrs. Johnson’s fault.  She wanted her pill-cocktail, so I had to get up, shove some food down m’throat and toss back the meds, then go back to bed clutching my guts and moaning.

…I put on Netflix to keep me company.  Ancient Egypt.  Mostly stuff on King Tut.

…I’m a little obsessed with mummies and tombs.

…And also serial killers and the Holocaust.

…If my theory is correct, (that whatever you are obsessed with in life, is because you have some sort of formal connection to it in the past…not necessarily in a “past life” per se, but possibly, and at the very least you were somehow present in a spirit or energy form around a person who was having that experience  at the time…kinda like a cling-on to a host), then I’ve witnessed me some SERIOUSLY disturbing shit in my time.  And yet where I can watch endless documentaries on it without residual affect (besides weeping), I CANNOT watch any of those things in a Hollywood film with viscera and guts just flying all over the place.

I don’t know why.

The REAL things are so much more disturbing.  You’d think THOSE would be the ones to haunt me. But no.

…I got this idea for a book a couple years ago, based on the Jack the Ripper case and spent the better part of NINE MONTHS with my nose in German Victorian dissecting books, and pouring over the snapshots of every attributed victim’s remains.  It was completely disgusting (and necessary…and gory…and disturbing as hell), yet it needed to be done in order to get the thing done correctly.  I’m talking some TRULY gorrific stuff, here.  And yet, I can’t even watch Hospital dramas or detective junk on T.V. without nightmares.

…I went through most of my childhood COMPLETELY surrounded in Holocaust literature and history books, because the empathy (yes, “empathy,” not “sympathy”) for these people was totally unexplainable. 

…The Romanov family massacre, and possible survival of one of the children, completely fascinates me.

…The tombs of the ancient Pharaohs, are crazy interesting, and I will watch anything regarding Egyptology, at any time.

…The era of WWII in general, (from it’s music to social customs) feels like a natural default that I could easily slip right into, were I to magically teleport into it one day.

…England is clearly my main base “home”…it just calls to the roots of me.

…And I relate to Bronte & Austen era books, character feelings, and frustrations far too much to NOT have (in some way) participated in them, historically.

So, when I can’t sleep…these are strangely, the places I retreat to…either in book form or film…to ease me back to an even keel and drift me off to sleep again.

Weird, I know.  But what are yuh gonna do?

…So through five, six, seven o’clock this morning…I soaked up History Channel explorations and tried not to think about how badly my stomach hurt, and how The BFF was gonna be leaving today. 

It was a good sidetrack for a while. 

Until it wasn’t, anymore. 

She and The Fella buzzed the door at nine, with coffees in hand.  A last “hurrah,” before they started their week-long road trip enroute to L.A..  First stop: the ocean for the night, then onto Ashland for a couple of plays at the Oregon Shakes…then two days in Vegas with The Fella’s aunt, and next to visit her brother in S.F..  Then: L.A. 

…I’ll be pickin’ The Fella up from the airport next Saturday.

Our coffee was had.  Ridiculous teasing and riffing, took place.  I gave her a monster hug. And she was on her way.

…I’m really excited for her.  And really bummed for me.  And the thing I wanna do most right now is just hermit away this sunny day by watching incredibly depressing history lessons of my possible past lives on Netflix, until rehearsal rips me out of my moroseness at four P.M.

That’s all I wanna do right now.

…But in my head, I can hear her say something like, “Fuck that shit!  It’s sunny!  Get out in that and play!”

I’m negotiating with Mrs. Johnson right now to see if she’s either with me on this, or I need to beat her into submission. Cuz moping is NOT the answer.  And I know it.

…SEE how good The BFF has trained me?!

FUCK it’s really gonna suck to be without her.


%d bloggers like this: