Write Raw #6 (No Editing Allowed)

“Love is a piano dropped from a fourth story window, and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” – Ani DiFranco

I was rushing, as always, on the sidewalk of the Village, where I live, scooting under the fire escape when I realized something big was about to happen. I just didn’t know what it would be. Would someone die? Would my sister have her baby? Would Gramps have  a heart attack? The flush ran up my body and stayed there, even the wind that blew couldn’t erase the warm feeling inside me yet I couldn’t define it. I had just turned 26 a couple of days ago and my friends had given me a sweet, little party. They were all there and they had invited my boyfrieind, Matt and a few of his friends. Matt seemed off that night, I had no idea why. When I asked hilm, he just said ” he was tired.” He’s been real tired these last few weeks. I kinda want to go up to him , look at his green hazel eyes and shake him by the shoulders and just yell “what’s the matter with you” but I don

t. I think I’m scared to so I just leave it be. Part of me doesn’t want to know and as long as he hasn’t said anything definite, we’re still ok. I think.But what the hell do I know? I have no idea how to deal with his? He’s moody, he’s sometimes distant but arent’ people like that all the time? okay let me be more specific, aren’t men like that at some point? No one is perfect, I’m not for sure, but is it that glaring a flaw that we would break up? That seemed ridiculous. We’ve been together for four years. We LIVE together. I was probably over-worrying which is an annouying habit I have. I need to stop doing this.

I get to the apartment and Matt is there and he is in a cheerful mood and we hug and all of a sudden I’ve forgotten my former worries because he gave me a sweet, quick kiss on my lips and hugged me for a moment.We talked about where we should have dinner which always took so much time given that we were in a mecca of restaurants, we could have anything we wanted, all the time. We were spoiled we knew but that’s what lving in the Village was all about. It was about youth, and exploration and growing up after college and fun. We had fun in the village after our drone jobs in mid-town where I was basically a secretary )ok now they call us “Personal assistants” and Matt was an “Engineering Assistant/aide.” We both made very little money but we lived in a studio that had one futon that we covered with old Indian fabric, a small kitchen (tiny) that had 4 plates, a few pink-tinted glasses and some silverware we stole from NYU. QWe had a couple of plants that were barely alive and a cat named Oliver. The cat was his idea, not mine. I wanted a dog but he said they were too much responsibility since we were not home during the day. I guess he ‘s right but we culd have traded turnls going home at lunch and walking the dog. Matt was adamant and when he is like that I knew there were no negotaitions that would go on. Matt had a stubborn streak so I figured once we got married and bought a house, then I could have my dog, mayve two of them. When I mentioned this he laughed and nodded so I figured I would just delay my dream for the right time.And I was ok with that. Truly.

We decide to go out for Thai food, the one thing we can agree on effortlessly so that was nice; there was a small restaurant about four blocks from our apartment. Insided the restaurant, Matt s tarted getting gloomy again, not cheerful like he was at the apartment or particularly loving but totally different, quiet, moody and there was tension in the air. I knew this time I couldn’t avoid talking about it so after two glasses of beer I brought it up. “What’s going on Matthew?” I asked. “Just what the hell is going on ?” I need to know, I feel it but I don’t know what it is. He started to sit upp straight , he sighed and tried to take my hand but something about that all of a sudden felt creepy, I took my hand away. “I need to talk to you he said, his voice barely above a whisper.” My skin just froze, and I swear the blood that was flowing in my body myst have drained and left me for a puddle on the granite floors.

I felt afraid, and I felt confused. I literallly had no idea what he was about to say. He started talking, talking about things that happened 2 years ago when we were still dating and in school; like the time we went bowling and I won and he said I was showing off but I really wasn’t, I was just happy I won and besides it’s just a stupid game. “Are u kidding me, I asked?” He was not. He started telling me that he thought we needed to see other people that our relationship was getting too close to fast, that he wasn’t ready to make a commitment. “WHAT?” I screamed, “after all this time, “now you don’t want to be in a committed relationship” you wanted to be together forever, that’s what you said a few weeks ago when we talked about marriage and having a house, and the dogs I could have.,

He mumbled something about this being the “wrong time” and then I stopped and felt listless and I looked deeply into his blue eyes. There was something there that she hadn’t noticed before, she gasped and then she knew. He was lying about something, an she called him on it and with a heaving sigh that seemed to last for hours he admitted that he just wasn’t in love with her anymore. He had loved her once but it had been over for him for a long time and that he needed to leave, in fact he would leave that verysame evening. She couldn’t change it, she was stunned, in shock, she had had no idea, no clues. “It just wasn’t their time,”he muttered under his breath, as he stood up to pack his things to leave. They both stood up, her in shock, heimpervious to her pain, and walked out of the restaurant, towards their apartment walking, under the firescape, to get home.

The Sum Of Me

Henri Matisse, The Dance I, 1909, Museum of Mo...

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I am part of an internet group of dear friends who also have Fibromyalgia, a chronic pain disease. We generally talk about the effects of this leech, this parasitic illness and how it makes us feel and how it affects our lives. It is what brings us together; and we truly care about one another. Imagine, a group of people who you have never met yet you trust them, seek out their advice. These people really do know how your pain feels.

We could discuss things we used to do but cannot do now. For me, I would talk about gardening and how I used to have a big vegetable garden many years ago when bending down to my knees and getting up was no problem. I would reminisce about the bright green English peas that grew, the fiery red cherry tomatoes that bathed in the sunlight, two kinds of lettuce and thick, orange carrots. I could also talk about the three miles I used walk in under an hour with my work friends each day, outside, around a blue-green reservoir. Maybe I would confess I was a size eight for about two minutes and twenty years ago while I was struggling with infertility issues and the deep, emotional pain of that process. “If I couldn’t have children, I was going to be skinny” was my mantra as I made myself march outside.

The summer before I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, and my children were at camp, I would take the train to New York City and relish being surrounded by people from all over the world, hearing them speak, watching the beautiful, colorful outfits that so many people donned in shades of rose, green, yellow, blue, shades of white and grey. Perhaps I would see a Broadway show for half price, go to a museum, or back to the Village and try to recognize it after many years. Going in to the city was like having an international picnic without even leaving the gleaming Grand Central Station.  I didn’t worry back then about getting to the city and how much walking I would have to do and whether I had to take a cab because I was so tired and drained that I couldn’t put one burning, aching, painful foot in front of the other.

Many blogs I read are about chronic pain and diseases, and I wonder at their brilliance. It’s a dilemna for me because while I do write about my chronic illness or two, I write about everything else in my life.  Am I doing myself a disservice? It could be. I write about food, depression, fun, family, television, friends, travel, grief, cheesecake, chocolate etc.  It’s a mix and mash-up of a blog, like a patchwork quilt with different patterns and colors. Do I need to define myself more clearly?  I may have just answered my own question. I am all things, not just one.

I am a patient, a parent, a friend, wife, mother, teacher and student. I love many things: reading books with beautiful covers, writing, taking photographs of children or benches or boats. I love to watch red cardinals and yellow finches at my bird feeder and butterflies winking by me. I love to eat good food, I am sweet on sweets, I dislike alcohol; coffee, orange juice, chocolate milk or Diet Coke are my beverages of choice, I drink them all at different times.

I could choose to pick one subject to write about but, it would not be my true self, of that I am sure. I am all over the place with emotions and experiences, flying, sometimes crawling, like red, yellow, blue and black kites sailing in the gusty wind, all tangled together, or in peaceful harmony, sometimes independently flying free. I am a person, with many  facets. I am as many pieces of my puzzle as I want. It’s my puzzle, I need to make the pieces fit,  for me.