the nest has been blown out of the tree
A day. The Muse's father, stepmother, brother and his gf came over to help her move her remaining items from our home. I think I'm still in shock. Spent the day driving and crying, listening to
Husker Du,
U2 and
Jane Siberry. Had to spend a bunch of cash to get a new bed and livingroom furniture. Purchases that can be, should be, fun, like rewards for working hard, acquiring tasteful things to enhance one's living environment. But there is no excitement, and only sadness, with these. Already they feel not as much new as just replacements. Whatever. It's just stuff, has no meaning.
Gotta wait a month for the couch and love seat. At least the bed will be here tomorrow.
I didn't get to say goodbye to the cat, the friendly little furball. Fuck. It's only 8:30; feels like four in the morning.
Like my friend
lo, music speaks to me...
From Bob Mould and the boys:
well, you get up every morning
and you see, it's all the same
all the floors and all the walls
and all the rest remains
nothing changes fast enough
the hurry, worry days
it makes you want to give it up
and drift into a haze
revelations seem to be another way
to make the days go faster anyways
we're all exchanging pleasantries
no matter how we feel
and no one knows the difference
'cause it all seems so unreal
you'd better grad ahold of something
simple but it's true
if you don't stop to smell the roses now
they might end up on you
expectations only mean you really think you know
what's coming next, and you don't
yearbooks with their autographs
from friends you might have had
these are your important years
you'd better make them last
falling in and out of love just like...
these are your important years, your life
once you've seen the light, you finally
realize it might end up all right
it might end up all right now
"These Important Years,"
Warehouse: Songs and Stories (1987)
when was the last time it was warm?
maybe october
had i known then what i know now
same old story
i could've tracked our last summer night together
was it a good one?
i remember seeing carlos santana with you and my son
a warm night, in a constant rain, we three
holding each other to stay warm
swaying to the music
was that it?
or something else
was it sad? another wasted evening
watching reruns on network tv
re-laughing at things funny once
were you thinking of leaving then?
as you laughed, lying across my lap
were your thoughts already in another place?
seeing your life in the light of autumn dusk
your shadow falling separate from mine
even then?
you should have told me
i deserved to know
instead had to find out, had to confront you
with my most vulnerable face
you didn't deny a thing, that much is true
but i had to learn it on my own
i'm the grounded one after all
so tired of it, of the facing, of the digging
of taking the initiative, of enlisting honesty,
of calling on the truth, calling it out, it is there,
it is everywhere, just waiting to be recognized
so tired of seeing it
why do i always have to be the one to see it?
to call it?
shawn colvin sang, "it's gonna be another long one tonight/jst me and my well-intentioned spite"
spite against myself.
of course, it would not have "helped" if i had known,
known that it was our last christmas, just one year after i gave you my ring,
known that it was our last thanksgiving with your mother,
our last christmas with my family,
our last appearance at a birthday party for a niece or a nephew
or my son, my guilt limited to how i keep bringing these people into his life
seeking a replacement for his mother, who lacks the maternal wiring
shit, i did that whole thing backwards
had the child, and then lived my life
when i was your age, i thought i'd have children
but not until i was forty, not until now
but now, i am done having children
i am, have become, a good father, a strong father
the one constant in my child's life
the one he can trust, can rely on
for love, nurturing, help, honesty
there is angry lightning flashing outside
looking through the doors we looked through together
in love, together, sitting outside, looking at the wetlands,
watching the lightning dance across the sky
another person, once in my son's life, gaining his trust,
and now gone
i never would have guessed in a million fucking years
that you really had no idea what commitment was
you did, of course, i believe you
but goddamn it, lover, darling -- i've heard it before
it's all true, yeah, until it changes
the truth does not change
this i know
this i can't deny
this i won't resist
so, the real question i have is this:
what the fuck is wrong with me?
what is it that prevents my lovers from keeping their ends of the commitment?
why do they not tell me what they feel?
why do they get angry with me when i tell them what i feel?
why do they leave, oh god, why do they leave me every time?
pathetic. i know.
