Long, Slow, WINDY


Night of the soul.

His words rang in my head the whole bicycle ride home, they had been ringing in my head since he said them.

Leaky tears on the corners of my eyes.


Given time and given silence.

The truth of my situation comes out.

What happens when I open myself up.

First to those I have to, a kind of unwilling willingness to change because I can’t do it on my own and my heart is breaking and my mind is falling apart and I have thequickbrownfoxjumpsoverthelazydog running on repeat in my head.

Or I am screaming in my head.




The IT was stopped and thus begins this long slow unwinding of self, layers of bandages, sheaf’s of skin, wounds open to the air, a desperate desire to cloth myself in the savvy filling of all my days so that there is not time to stop.

No time to breathe.

Fortunate for my ego, my friend ducked into a corner store to grab a bottle of Pelligrino and say hi to the shop keeper who had just re-opened his store after a bad fire last year at Valencia Street and Duboce.

The tears siphoned down my face.

I don’t want to be right.

And as it turns out I don’t want to be happy either.


I want to be safe.

In some cocoon of white bunny fur, with my eyes closed and soft sunlight creamy on my face.

Sounds like some heroin, or is that just me?

I want to not hurt so badly from the hurt that I have put up with since forever that I am ready to cocoon myself away in the busy.

The busy of writing and taking on more projects.


(Side bar–I am re-thinking very seriously the Nano Wrimo thing, aside from the fact that the acronym bugs the fuck out of me, I don’t want to be told how to write my next book.  I don’t want to write on my laptop, I want to write long hand in a notebook and so I will go get myself a new one tomorrow, I tried today, but the day, she escaped with me and that was blown by the wind elsewhere as well–I already have a fucking discipline for hells sake, I don’t need to beat myself into having another.)

The busy of trying new things.

“Oh, yeah, well, I am just going to do some cold water open ocean swimming next week, I need a warm swim cap,” I said to my friend as we cruised the aisles at Sports Basement.

I did my best to not pay attention to his incredulous look.

Or in the act of purchasing the damn thing that I got so overwrought with impatience that I almost chucked the fucking cap in a bin and dashed out the store.

“Stay here, it’s not that long a line,” he said, “what is up with this?”


Running away from myself, the intimacy of being with people.

And running right the way to it as well.

Cram, cram, cramming as much as I can into my schedule.

The irony of it all is that I spent a lot of the day thinking about the principle behind the joy of living.

I was not living joyously.

I don’t let myself do that so well.

I could be wrong, but I recall every crossroad, and the paths that we laid, I hope you’re happy at the end of the day, I hope that you’re happy today.

I realized that I have been so busy, literally figuratively, that I have not let myself just accept things they way there are in their own spectacular way.

“It’s written all over your face, all over your actions, in what you do and how you say it, you….”

“I,” I said interrupting him as the light dawned bright, a shaft of sun out of the West, the sun saying, good-bye the fog is coming, the wind is on its way to clear out the cobwebs of your soul and old habits.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship,” I finished for him.

Although I desperately want to.

But my actions, oh, don’t they say so much more than my words as I try to be so involved in projects and things and stuff that I have left no room for anyone else.

I am so afraid of intimacy and being hurt that I build up this wall of stuff to keep you out.

Out I say.

Out damn spot.


Stay the fuck out of my heart.

Yet, I bleed, here on my screen, all over my friends, as they put up with my epiphanies and attempt to give me perspective, on my family, on the men I date, or pretend that I am available to date.

“What’s wrong with right now,” my friend said to me a few months back as we sat in the yellow gold sunlight flashing through the high trees in South Park.

What is wrong with right now?

What is in next week that is going to change the way I feel or how I think.

God knows I have tried.

I am so scared of being afraid of fear.

Does that make any sense?

I am so used to being by myself that despite the fact that intellectually I think I would be better off with a partner, I isolate myself to protect my little habits and needs.

What would happen if I let enough time in to let you in?

I am going to stop booking myself out so far into the future.

I am going to let myself have time.

I am going to let myself accept that there is no better me.

There is no better place.

There is no better body.

There is no better love than what resides right here, right now.

There is nowhere to go.

I am right here.

I accept this flawed human.


I do not need to move on.

I can stay.

Let the wind in, blow out my soul.

Slough away my sighs.

Open me up.


Oh, damn it.

Once again.


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One Response to “Long, Slow, WINDY”

  1. Cicely Martines Says:

    I am so glad you wrote that. Your honesty is amazing.

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