Memories

Memories are rough man. Pictures are the worst. It doesn't take much to trigger that horrendous lump in my throat I'm forced to choke back and finish with a smile.

Acceptance would be a blessing right now. Inner peace, a vacation. I'm better than I was, but I'm definitely not even in the same ball park anymore. All the self-blame and loathing has transformed itself. I'm not sure what to call it. I'm guessing the universe has a plan for us though. Strange how one day can change your plans for an entire lifetime.

Maybe a new city won't be so bad. I've done it before. It's just the thought of starting all over, yet again. It's tiring. I love a good adventure just like any other thrill seeking person, but I'm curious as to when my time to rest and recuperate will be? I don't just have the option to run away.

I wonder when it will be my time to find someone who loves me just as much as I love them.

Until then, it's just me and my memories.

She's got memories on the brain today. This happens at the change of seasons, not just of nature but of life.

She remembers hiding in the park after midnight with her lover, singing old blues together. Spinning on the whirly thing in the park. Making love more often than not.

She remembers being very young, and loving her father, and she misses that unquestioning love, that absolute trust. As an adult, she's no longer capable of it.

She remembers the first time she got drunk on box wine at a show in a garage on the corner of North and Dill. The wine was out of the box, the plastic bag looped over a rafter. She had to ask taller people to give her a refill. She danced, and she didn't care what people thought. Afterward, a band member came up and kissed her hand.

She remembers old pain fondly, she treasures the beauty that is inherent in tragedy.

She wishes her damn audio driver would quit uninstalling itself, because she's so bored she's talking about herself in third person.

By the way, that band, Stomping Ground I think, are they still... stomping the ground?