Forever Home

 

I wake up at 6:30am. Don’t know if it’s habit, excitement, nervousness – but more than likely a combination of the three.

Thanks to sWitch, I make myself some coffee – some good coffee, not the instant I’ve been subsisting on for the past months, left over from who knows when, but due to the brand of the French Press she gave me I can’t help but have the theme from “The Pink Panther” run through my head every time I use it.

BodumBodum, Bodum, BodumBodumBodum Bodum Boduuuuuuuummm…BodaBodaBodum. Sometimes I sing along with my head, and it helps it go away…

A couple years ago when I was living at Maitri, I made a commitment to myself to, if I lived, get another dog, and today, after all of that time preparing, after a few months of searching as many rescue shelters I could possibly find on the interwebs, looking at photos, different breeds that I felt would fit me, and after many times of thinking I had found the perfect one only to discover that they had already been adopted, were in fucking Taiwan waiting to come to America, or had a behavioral tick that the shelter or foster home felt made them unlikely for a good fit in an apartment (regardless of explaining that Bean was quite far from the perfect pup right from the start, but being adopted myself I took the time, found the patience, and offered the love she needed instead of taking her back to the pound)… today I go and meet what could very well become my new companion.

My new girl.

So many hoops I had to jump through just to get permission to have a dog in this apartment, but… but Gods, I found a way to do it.

There are still only a couple things I need to do – find someone who would be willing to care for her in the slight chance I end up in the hospital again, and hide her, probably here, until I’m able to get the necessary paperwork saying she has had her shots & the info for the emergency caretaker to the actual leaseholder of the apartment tomorrow morning – but it’s a two hour drive to go meet her, and if we get along with each other, I’ll be damned if I’m only coming back with vaccination paperwork just to turn around tomorrow and make the same drive there and back.

If she’s the one for me, I’m coming back with her.

 

Christ.

I just *may* have a new dog in a few hours…

 

And she just may have me.

 

I’ll tell ya one thing, though. Her name sure as hell isn’t going to remain “Daisy” – and if she *is* meant to be mine,

she’ll most likely be grateful.

 

Happy Father’s Day to Me.(?)

A Dream

6.9.12

Memories of A Dream.

We were house mates and

in the dream, she was perfect.

Black short hair, grayish-green almond shaped eyes

heavy, serious lids

and her eyes shined so beautifully when she smiled.

We were playing, laughing, and then…

everything changed.

Slowly, cautiously, we kissed.

We Kissed, hearts pounding, I could feel hers in mine

bodies trembling in fear, in desire –

the electricity of a first kiss coursing through us…

I gently pushed her away, still holding on,

and we looked into each other’s eyes, then

confessed that we were in love with each other.

I told her what she needed to know

about me, my health, and

she knew. Didn’t care. Just said, with a slight smile

“We’ll just have to be careful then, won’t we?”

It felt like heavens that I forgot I knew

being in love again

it brought back innocence,

a child of darkness who could again believe in light

and nothing else mattered.

In the dream, for some reason

I asked her if she wanted a baklava

but when I went to the kitchen to get them, there was only one left

so we split it, laughing

as it was destroyed by the fork

and again, through the honey and flecks of pastry

we tasted each other’s lips again.

and I woke crying, thanking whatever made that dream

for letting me feel that way once again.

Sister Morphine

Little by little I say goodbye, though without question at times, in my eagerness to be rid of her, too much at once. It’s in these times I feel the old haunting, the way her absence crawls under my skin, makes me twitch involuntarily, my insides revolting against what I must do. It is only with reluctance that I bring her back, but only just enough – to sleep, to not feel like there are thousands of worms under my skin, to not feel the way I swore to myself I never would again so many years ago.

I don’t even know how long she’s been a part of me this time – three years, four, five… it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s long past time to rid myself of the morphine that has been coursing through my blood for so long that it has taken nearly everything away – my love of writing, my passion, my desire for life – so very much, and left me with an empty shell that finds it far too difficult to see the beauty in this world as I once did.

Of course, it’s going to be more difficult this time, as all I need to do is say “ouch” and a new prescription is filled within a few hours, free of charge.

 

But I don’t want to live this life as a dead man anymore.