Category: Category 1

I write when I am anxious. Or annoyed. Or happy. Perhaps the truth is that today and yesterday were not good days. So I wrote and wrote and wrote. Read if you like. If you have the time.

It’s time for the truth. Or my version of the truth at least. I write and sing my way through everything. When I fall in love, out of love, get laid magnificently or when catastrophe hits. I come armed with notebooks, stolen pens from my Mother the teacher and my very out there imagination. Yes, my imagination that likes frequenting mystics, mad musicians and conspiracy theorists.

Perhaps this is why my daughter looked at me a few days ago and said, “Mother, you are never really here are you?” No baby girl. I try to be, but I  float above the ground like a ghost. Peeking into windows and hiding under beds,  watching the lives of others unfold and even a bit of my own…like an outsider, a voyeur or a weirdo. Depends on the day,  my mood and the pen I am using.

This isn’t always a bad thing mind you. Except when men enter the picture. Most of them  tried their best to ground and anchor me with their affections, money or big …equipment. It never worked out well for any of them. At least, I got some great music out of the deal.  Only one has remained my friend. The one I affectionately nicknamed the Devil. Or Tony Prince as he was called during the era when Thieves Cant was all the rage in England.

What is it about love that drives me to write like a lunatic? To reach for my notebook. The latest one I bought or was gifted with my some man trying his best to impress me. Usually, I  remove the carefully written words or scrape them away altogether. This book is now my domain and you shall not pass dammit!  My memory sucks. Kinda ironic seeing that I am an ambassador for an Alzheimer’s home. Gilda, who runs TLC Alzheimers Homes often jokes  and says, ” Don’t  worry my girl, we have a bed ready for you.” Yet, all it takes to jolt me back into remembrance is my note book. And there it is. The love I wanted, took for granted or simply did not give a fuck about.  And with it all the music I wrote.

Still. Him I barely speak of. Part of me knows I buried every bit of him  the minute I stepped back on the plane.   I left him because. I walked away in spite of. Even now I cannot write about him or what transpired. Not because I cannot face my own guilt. It’s  all there in black and white. In music. I am very Catholic that way. Perhaps the truth is simpler. I do not want to anchor him and what happened to a present that no longer exists.  Or pin it to a  me I no longer am and a him he grew out of.

What would do if i fell in love again? Buy a new notebook and jot down words that will become music of course. Share what I learnt about love when my father passed.  Those two tolerated each other and were unfaithful on their own small ways. Isn’t that the way of love eh? A dash of deceit here and a white lie over there?  He lost himself in books and politics and she found Jesus. A betrayal is still a betrayal by any other name. At the end you would swear they were love struck teenagers since they first laid eyes on each other. No. Death intervened and eroded my father’s  bastard heart the way water does to stone.  Leaving a kinder and gentler man in its wake.  A man we all loved and miss still.

Thanks to death and more death every single damn day…I have no inner turmoil left. No existential crisis.   I am not fighting for anything or anyone.  All I can do is ensure I breathe slower. …and write to figure out if indeed I am mad or not.  That way….by the time you reach me, future lover of mine,  you will find a lady who is calm and only speaks when I need to ask a question that will most likely confuse you or make you want to run. Yeah, a blabber mouth I am not. Dont ask my ex’s, consult my daughter instead. Depending on her mood she could say….’Mother you are one of the mysterious people I know. I never know what you are thinking.’ OR ‘Mother, you are not as deep as you think. I know you. ‘  Kids. Cant live with them. Can shoot them, but who wants to end up in jail when  simply ignoring  them for a while works out even better eh?

So this is what my future lover will encounter. A very calm and classy lady who likes hats, beanies, hikes and whiskey.  Not a broken bit in sight. All my cracked parts I mended together with words I picked up from strangers and melodies that cause a riot under my skin if left alone too long.

Man….I can’t wait to fall in love again. No. Dammit. That’s the wrong word. I cannot wait to embrace love. This time….without fear.  And a lot more humor. 

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