I sat down in one of the plastic chairs on the balcony. I didn't have my cigarette lit before my phone began vibrating. [At least it wasn't my head this time.] I pulled the phone out of my pocket and looked at the screen:...New Message... Mom. I set the phone down on the tiny outdoor table, lit my cigarette, and inhaled. I stood up and walked from one end of the balcony, to the other. I noticed, caddy corner from my house, a white porcelain toilet on the neighbor's lawn. No one sitting on it, the lid down; a toilet; centered perfectly in the front yard. A young man walked outside from the house I was staring at. He was heading toward his car that was parked out in the road. He noticed me staring and he grinned at me and waved. I imagine he thought I was checking him out, but it was the outdoor plumbing system/abstract art installation I was enamored with, not him. If I had more energy, I would've walked downstairs, and asked him what the inspiration was behind such a peculiar work. With the thought of what answer he could possibly give me, I laughed and returned his wave,cigarette still in hand. He continued to grin until he got in his car, and in true, 'bad boy', fashion, peeled out in the street as he drove away.
I put out my cigarette, then let myself fall into the arms of the chair. Its synthetic body offered support without comfort. I didn't care though. It was good enough for the time being. I grabbed my phone to read the text message my mother sent...Ur Aunt Rhonda will be down on fri. We will be making a trip to the cemetery. I'd like to get flowers. I was kind of dumb-founded by her message. Surely she didn't think I would forget my Dad's, "Death Birthday", this weekend? We talked about it last week. My mother invented the term, "passive-aggressive", though, and suddenly it clicked in my head. This was her way of communicating the magnitude of the loss she still felt. I share that same feeling. I can't believe its been a year since he left for The Great Gig in the Sky. I'm still in the grieving process with my mom. I decided to return her text with a phone call and began dialing.
"I'm at a Dr.'s appointment", she answered. "Okay well call me later... I love you mom". In actuality, I knew she wouldn't share a deep conversation with me. She sends awkward messages when she wants to talk, or rather, when she needs some reassurance. "I love you too", she said, and she quickly hung up on me. I came back into the house and ate lunch. But I wasn't ready to jump back into writing after eating. I'd been working all night and morning. So instead, I picked up my acoustic guitar and started playing.
I should note that I'm not a musician. Playing guitar has always been just a hobby of mine. Over the weekend, my little brother heard me playing our brother Patrick's Fender. "What was that?!??!", he demanded to know. "I think I finished writing an entire song", I admitted. So we recorded it. Playing guitar offered a release of emotions I wasn't even aware I had inside of me. I literally felt...better; mentally and spiritually. I still don't know chords. I play by ear. I prefer that method. I don't think I'll ever be up to musician standards, but I intend to make more time for guitar since it isn't just passing time these days. It's become a form of therapy, if that makes sense.
I had to make myself stop playing today after 30 minutes so I would get back to writing. When the sun began to set around 6pm, I put the editing away. Its not writer's block. My brain is running on empty and could definitely benefit from doing NOTHING for the rest of the the night.
I'll finish it tomorrow. It's been a day.
#nowplaying If I Ever Feel Better = Phoenix
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