Monday, June 01, 2009

Love... confession #1

One must first make the admission - Love.
Illness, narcotic, despot. Get that bit over with and maybe there'll be a chance you can do the dishes or get dressed. Lets think it through again, what you're going to do or say when he calls, the evil one. Its going to be the perfect thing to close and latch the door, the window. It's going to be a suture.
Suture for the suitor. For the would-be suitor. If he had sense. Actual tormentor.
There are things that you are going to do instead of being in love. Like increase your muscle mass, cook more often, listen to Jimi Hendrix and Charles Mingus' entire discographies, be a better, more attentive mother.
Be healthier, be stronger, be focussed.
Love in this instance is like an immune system disorder. An immune system is a great thing and so is love but turned on themselves, both will make you sick. Find the right herbs to drink. Heal yourself.
You spoke on the phone like you always vow not to do, and he was cruel. He said you are not useful. Useful! As if a woman were a spatula or a lawnmower. And such a thing should be enough of an exit, you're the kind of woman who wants to be art not an appliance. But, oh dear. You love him. The blind, consumer of a man.
And he doesn't even know how much he needs you. But he does. He conceded there was love between you. You think perhaps your writing scares him. THat old chesnut. You are too much of a Lilith for him. He says he needs something/one simple, a simple love. But he provides all the complications, so that's not fair.
You just want to feed him and hear about his day and lay next to him in the dark. Nothing sinister. But you are not a bland-faced doll and never will be. Sigh. Run.
He won't let you in the door and won't give you bus-fair home. You've been having one, long, barren conversation for the last 9 months. Babies knit their whole bodies from scratch in that time, and he can't even finish a thought. Every conversation ends with - well anyway i gotta go I'll call you when i get off work/finish this/get back in the country.
when you get off the phone you throw yours at the wall and you shout LEAVE ME ALONE!! Because you've had enough of being a colony. Invaded by a strange language and custom, giving up all your land for a string of beads.

I am going to do something other than be in love.

That's my first confession....

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