Shotgun (rescued from my drafts)

*I found this in my drafts today. I’m not sure why I didn’t post it, perhaps it got lost in the shuffle. I think I wrote it on Oct 19, 2019. Days before I met David, still drowning in grief. Enjoy, or whatever you feel when you read something like this.

I talk to MPT several times a week. She was another casualty of my crazy life for a while, I hardly saw her. Now I spend a couple hours on her couch with her across from me, doling out good advice. Seems she was moved enough by my experience to write me a poem.

ride (take it from a former addict)

I know it is hard for my friends to watch me struggle, especially from the clear vantage point of it not being their own disaster.

I actually think I’m doing okay now. It was a little dodgy for a few months there and I’m sure MPT was screaming at the doomed teenager in the horror movie on the screen in front of her.


But she never said a word to me. I’m sure she would have intervened if things got really dangerous, but you can’t save someone from themself.

I had to do what I had to do and she has always been the dutiful friend who was happy for me when I was happy, furious when I was furious, resolute when I was resolute, forgiving when I was forgiving. She rode shotgun knowing that this is my ride and she was going to save pulling the E-brake for an absolute emergency.

But she wrote a poem for me, one that illustrates just how well she understands my situation and with that … compassion.

These days I check in with her in the morning. I send her a screenshot of my meditation app’s streak counter. I’m on day six. I once made it past 100 days, I’ll get there.

My realtor stopped by today and gave me flowers.

It is a beautiful bouquet and I love it. For years I didn’t allow myself to like cut flowers. I felt that they weren’t virtuous, that it would reflect better upon me to reject flowers, that not wanting them would prove I was a worthy person.

Worthy of what?

Now I’m just going to accept gifts and kindness with a thank you. And I’m going to enjoy the shit out of them. Thank you Svein. They truly brighten my day.

My birthday is coming up in November and this year I want to open the door to a real celebration. After all, 48 is a landmark year.

Who knows how I will feel then. Hopefully I will feel like celebrating. If not, I will fake it til I make it. I will not be difficult this year or any other year.

Today was a day of work, tying up loose ends as I wrap up my job. I enlisted the help of Sideboob to update my resumé. After all, that thing ain’t gonna write itself. I’ve learned to back myself into corners when I’m avoiding doing something. I can’t hide from the Norwegian.

Right now I’m waiting for Casey to get home from Ultimate Frisbee practice. Micah has been here since school got out. He enjoys the space for the same reasons I do … the light, the lack of clutter, the warmth. And probably the food.

Casey slept here last night, tonight Micah is with me. We already decided we are going to watch Gordon Ramsey.

For a while I thought that this age with the boys was when I was going to start losing them, their need to separate would be strong. Yet while they are capable of more independence, I find they want me more than ever. This time is fleeting and so critical. So much can go wrong if I check out. I’m glad I came to my senses.

Here’s a ridiculously cute video Micah made when he dropped his phone on the trampoline.

7 thoughts on “Shotgun (rescued from my drafts)

  1. it won’t let me click like on my new browser. it’s too high tech. thanks for giving my poem props. also, that’s my trampoline! yay! here’s to a good day, and i’ve already received my text, indicting you’re still on a meditation streak. nice work. in today’s fantasy, it’s a nice autumn drive, i’m still shotgun, smoking a cigarette. music is blasting. you’re swigging from a whiskey bottle. this is going to be a fun ride.

    • Let’s not drive off a cliff, though. I have a happier ending in mind. And BTW, I’m pretty sure we are in the exact same position right now. Sitting with a computers in our laps, feet up, coffee to the right and dogs lounging as we write. I’ll be by when I’m done.

  2. I love the poem your friend wrote. Isn’t it nice when someone really knows you! You are blessed. My sisters, all 4 of them, have said that when their kids were teenagers they needed them more than ever. I must go. I am making spring rolls for dinner. They are yummy and quick. BTW I remember when we were neighbors you would make such lovely floral arrangements. Don’t pretty bouquets make you smile?

  3. What a beautiful poem. It resonates for me as well. And thank you for writing so often. I love hearing from you and about your life, and the things you’re doing. Keep up the good work and write when you can!

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