Dreaming of Sunshine

Memories flood in sometimes in unexpected ways. You’ll smell something familiar, hear a song on the radio, or see a face that reminds you of someone from long ago. Sometimes, it takes your breath away and makes you bolt for the anonymity of the city so that you can cry in the privacy of thousands. For me, today, it was realizing a date: today is May 25, 2012.

I love May. May means the coming of summer, white pants, and linen. May is sailors in NYC for Fleet Week. May is fresh produce and rainstorms and the end of the cold. May is hope. May is Memorial Day and remembrances and the sharing of friendship. May is wonderful, but it also holds the anniversary of the worst day of my life.

She was more than my best friend. I’m not terribly romantic in that ethereal-metaphysical kinda way, but if I were, I’d tell you that Dani was my soul-mate. I remember seeing her one day when she popped by the theatre to chat with her friends, and she said hi to me. We knew each other as acquaintances, but on that day, I remember thinking so clearly: we’re going to be *friends*. We bumped into each other in the student union of the community college we both attended, and she walked right up and chatted with me like we’d been lifelong pals. A week or two later, I went (by myself) to see her (and a couple of other friends, too) compete in the local beauty pageant that was a preliminary to Miss Florida. I knew she was going to win, and it’s funny, because she told me later that she saw me there, applauding when she was crowned. This all sounds so dorky, I know, but it was important at the time. The weird thing to me was that she saw me…turns out, she always did.

Within a few months, we were doing a show at the local theatre together, and honestly, the details are a blur after that. All I really remember is that she was the one person I trusted more than anyone. We shared the fun and pain of being young and growing up. We worried about what we would do with our lives and how we would ever get out of Florida. We laughed, we cried, we got high, and we moaned about boys. But mostly, we talked. Now if you’ve ever met me, you know I have a bad habit of prefacing my words sometimes with “please take this the right way” - in one of our last conversations, she stopped me in the middle of my preface. “You don’t need to say that to me - I’ll take it the right way. I get you.” I looked at her and said, “Yeah, you DO, don’t you?” 

I think that conversation was actually the same day as the accident. She was technically pronounced dead two days later, but that was the day she died. The images in my mind are forever burned in…of the car coming, the impact, her sister’s screams, and seeing my friend lying lifeless so far away on the grass. The other memories of the day and the coming weeks are spotty; all I know is that I couldn’t even understand how any of it had happened - it was all so fast. You can’t really make sense of that, and I don’t think we’re supposed to. Instead, I think that more than anything, I’ve always felt that I have an obligation to live my life, at least a little bit, for the both of us. And I often think about what our friendship would look like now. Would we both be in NY? I can see that. I can see us meeting for a drink or dinner and me going to her house on the weekends, probably in Brooklyn, and being Auntie Mame for her passel of kids. But maybe not. Maybe all that had to happen so that the other elements in life are put into play. We’ll never know. But I do like to think that she’s watching me, and that she knows that I’ve felt her with me my whole life. I think she’s probably my angel.

Because you know, amazing really doesn’t even begin to describe her. She was a redhead; short and cute with long eyelashes and a great figure. Her smile was incredible, and her laugh made others laugh. She may have been the captain of the cheerleaders, but she was also the nicest person in the room. She was kind. And she was smart and funny and oh so talented. And everyone - and I mean everyone - who knew her saw her light. There wasn’t enough room at the funeral home to hold all the people for her service - in fact, the cars were lined up down the street. 

20. That’s how many years it’s been. 20 years since that day. It’s been 20 years since I lost my best friend, and the world lost a little bit of its sparkle.

She walked off the train and up the stairs into the bustle of the city, steeling herself for the day. Listening to music, she tried to drown out the thoughts in her head. The wind blew a light breeze across her face, and she smiled. Somewhere he was in the city too, hopefully thinking of her.

Okay, so we’re mere minutes into 2012, but I thought I’d write and share my resolutions publicly. I actually usually do a list every year, and I always try and make the goals attainable. This year, I’m definitely stealing a lot of wording from various friends. Here goes:

*Undertake and complete a 365 project: I will take a picture a day every day. Some will be for fun, some will be to just get it done. Some will be on my iPhone, some on one of my cameras. But I will do it. I’m not sure the lesson in it, but I know there is one. I’ll report back and tell ya!

*Return my body to the shape that’s in my body image. (I love how my friend put that!) Or at least get it a lot closer!

*Write more. I have a few things to say, and so many abandoned stories/blog posts/letters - that’s just silly. Also, I’d like to start documenting some of the stories of my life.

*Engage my friends and family more. I have fantastic people in my life; I want to actively participate in their lives, and have them as part of mine.

*Cut away at the excess. I’m not really a ‘stuff’ person, and yet I have way more than I need. I’m gonna do my best to lighten the load.

*Read more. I have a number of books that are literally sitting in my apartment, just waiting to be read. I do read, but not nearly enough. So even if it’s just a few minutes, I will read a book every day.

*Listen to more music. I was thinking about it, and really, I didn’t listen to much music this year - and I think that’s telling. Music makes me happy. Especially if I just am looking for background noise, it should be music, and not the TV.

*Speaking of music, I know someone who is a professional singer, and while I sing only because I love to, I think one of her resolutions is amazing: SING EVERY DAY.

*Keep being awesome.

2012, Bring. It. I’m ready.

Happy New Year to all of you.

December 1, 2011 - Day #3 of unemployment.

The sun is shining brightly today, and after two days on the couch (but surprisingly NOT drinking), I’m up. I’m actually throwing a party this weekend, and I have to clean the house. As I’m cleaning, I’ve been looking at all my STUFF. Now, I’m not ridiculous; I don’t have enormous collections of anything, and my apartment is far from being overrun with items. But I’m looking at everything, contemplating selling everything I own, and I’m trying to asses what I might actually NEED and what things I would truly WANT to have in the future. It can lead you down a bit of a rabbit hole in your thinking, “but - but, I spent so much on those things, what if I want them in the future,” and it can make you feel really confused.

The biggest thing going through my mind though? I’m at a serious Crossroads here. My life has not been what I’ve wanted for quite a long time now, and this is a chance to finally regain control, and maybe veer off in a direction I’ve never considered. It may sound cocky, or naive, or just plain stupid to say this, but I honestly believe I’m meant to do something really good - great even - in my life. Getting another status quo job that doesn’t recognize my talents, living in a place where all I’m really doing is being alone and accumulating more stuff, well, I think that would be a huge mistake. I need to move forward, not back, and not just tread water either. 

My biggest fear is that I’m going to blow it. Don’t let me blow it, k? Help me leap.

This is a collage of my brother Steve, mostly from his teenage years and early 20s, because there aren’t many pictures of him from his 30s (or ones you’d want to see). That’s me with him at Circus World, probably circa 1980.

My brother was a mess. He was at the wrong age during my parent’s divorce, undiagnosed manic depressive, chronic gout sufferer, emotionally abusive, junkie. In all honesty, I didn’t like him much. But also, he was funny, and had a wonderful sense of humor. He loved media and movies and comics and science fiction, and man he would have been amazed at the porn on the internet. He loved to dance and make others laugh. He was a fantastic cook, and loved food. He could be incredibly kind, and I never saw an animal that didn’t love him. He had a really nice voice. He died a pretty horrible, slow death ending in January 2001 after month-long stint in the hospital, from an infection he introduced shooting oxycontin. He was interesting, and wicked smart, and the biggest tragedy of his death was that his life was so wasted. He was 37.

It’s been over 10 years since he died, and today, September 16th, would have been his 48th birthday. The point of this post is not sad - it’s just to remember that he was once here.

It’s Labor Day.

It went so fast, I feel bewildered that “Summer” is over. Really? I feel like I haven’t even gotten started. What a strange year it’s been. Mostly, it’s been a blur of senses and experiences and thoughts and preparation. Preparation. Looking forward and behind, at what has been, and looking out for what’s next. I honestly don’t know what *is* next, but I have some things I’m wishing for…

And it’s interesting, because it’s caused me to reflect on waiting: you really can go crazy while you wait, but there is an amazing satisfaction of being able to breathe through the interim, and to examine everything that’s happening around you. 

I was on a train this afternoon, returning from what ended up being a delightful day with my sister in NJ. Being on the train was peaceful, and relaxing. It reminded me of something I heard on TAL one time, where Dishwasher Pete talked about taking Greyhound from one place to another. He spoke of the ‘transitional state’ - that time you spend on the bus, going from one location to the next, alone with your thoughts, and moving both physically and possibly metaphorically from here to there…

In those few short minutes on the train, I came to realize something: I think no matter what happens in the next several weeks, I AM moving from one place to another. Things are changing for me, and this part is coming to a close. I’m ready get on with it, and I’m excited to write the next chapter.

So on Friday, a parrot tried to snap my left index finger right off my body. I’m neither exaggerating nor being a drama queen about this; in fact, just minutes prior, the bird had snapped the end of my glasses off. I should have realized then it was time to leave the party…

But ya know, the fact of the matter is, sometimes I’m not even sure how these things happen? I know it was my intention to stay away from that bird - pretty much from the beginning, in fact. But there was this girl, and she needed help, and her boyfriend wasn’t doing a damn thing about it, so I offered my assistance. Of course, the bird liked me, and later even climbed down her cage, walked across the floor, and right up my leg so that she could hang out with me. We were pals. So once again, even though I wasn’t actually looking for trouble, trouble found ME. I let my guard down. Several more waif-ish beautiful women with men who were incapable of helping, got themselves mixed up with that gorgeous parrot, and asked for my help. 

And after a killer Zombie, I forgot my head. Or my hand. Well, that is to say, my fist. You do know you should never approach a bird with anything but a closed fist, right? RIGHT? Right. Tell that to my left index finger. After a good, true, 10 second chomping, I’m really glad the digit is still attached.

Oh my life.

Lonely is not calling your mother because you can’t handle her hearing the sad in your voice.

Lonely is wanting to move to another city so you can justify your loneliness.

Lonely is not drinking alone because you don’t want to be that person.

Lonely is watching endless hours of horrible tv because you don’t want to hear yourself think.

Lonely is missing someone you don’t know.

Lonely is fear.