Wednesday, May 30, 2012
It was that time, when the night blended into a dark mass and its sky fell over all the earth. Few people ever see this mysterious time, when the lights in the houses are dark and barely a flicker of a stray television that some lucky soul had fallen asleep to might be seen in the distance. It was the time of the night shift worker, the boozy club kid staggering home, and that particular breed of human known as the insomniac. She had been one for as long as she could remember, the years melting into one long night covered by stars or moons or the haze of clouds that would obscure them all.
It was this forever night that took her into its confidence. It embraced her, whispering its dark secrets into her frustrated ears. Night after night she would listen to its call - the stray siren, the scream that should have distressed her but never did, the revving motorcycles and noisy buses. They all spoke to her in the elite language of the pitch black. This was her lullaby. The secrets of the night unfolded themselves to her and in turn her soul cried back to them. A dialogue that ended only with the first light of dawn.
There is life in the suburbs to write about. Sadly, it is usually quite boring, and most things revolve around the difficulties of home ownership. Actually, much of that would entertain, especially my encounters with the local flora and fauna. And maybe the puppy will develop a personality worth mentioning. I could always dwell on my pain and my efforts to relieve it. How joyous would that be to read?
My life has undergone a sea change since last most of you heard from me. Snippets on Facebook don't really tell the story. I want more than that, I need it, and quite frankly I deserve it. The hard part is that I just want it for myself and those who understand what the personal blog is all about. It's a lost art, I think, overshadowed by celebloggers, paid posts, commercialization, and the ever decreasing ability to remain pseudo-nonymous. I am going to try to reclaim some of that, and share it with the few of you who will come by for old times' sake, and the perhaps more of you who follow Trifecta. Certainly stay tuned for that bit. It is a story that needs to be told.
Above all, if you have been invited to this space, I quite strongly exhort you to respect the anonymity I am trying to maintain here. It is all I have left that is just for me. Good night, good friends, good gracious.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Finding herself on the floor of yet another car, and now pondering the idea of an exorcism, she looked back on the past months with profound sadness and confusion. One person could not possibly be as unlucky as she had been. The time when she was successful businesswoman, engaged to her own personal Adonis, seemed an eternity away. The rapid decay of her life stood in bleak contrast to that which she once was. The tears came less slowly each time. This time, it was the familiar sound of the sirens that triggered their deluge.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
It was all she could do to hang on even a few more minutes in the office. Her health had not fully returned, by all accounts a permanent situation. So she called the car service and slipped away to get a ride home. The car arrived on time, and she was thankful that the driver was able to quickly get her walker in the trunk. A walker at 30 years old, cut tennis balls on the bottom and all. Pathetic. Having to help was so tiring, and her leg was already swollen and stiff. She climbed into the back seat and turned sideways to stretch her legs out on its large expanse. Ah, the relief. Her ankle had resumed its big as a baseball habit, signaling its need to have a half dozen or so pillows propping it up. Just ten minutes. Just ten minutes.
As the car exited the highway, she could practically see her apartment building through her half-closed eyes. Just a few more blocks. Just a few more blocks and ... thud. Before she knew what happened, she'd been bounced off the back seat and on to the expansive floor of the town car. She was frozen. Frozen with memories, flashbacks, and the idea that this could be happening again, and again, and again. Though the muffled yelling of two drivers intruded on her shock, she could think of only one thing: call her therapist. When the therapist answered the phone, the words poured out, no identification necessary. "I was just in car accident." There was a silence at the other end of the line. A knowing, deep, long silence that was contemplating each instance of trouble she had endured and searching for the comforting words that no longer existed. The silence was broken with a considered and sincere suggestion. "Perhaps we should get you an exorcism."
My blog's name is quite simply explained. My Blogger user name is "you" and it was also the first name I used when logging on to a BBS some time in 1991. So rather than involve all the baggage of who I became, I have chosen to return to who I was. And that was originally You.