One of my goals this year is to write a book…
…and I’m doing a superb job of fucking it up by not prioritizing my time around writing and accomplishing this goal of mine.
With that, I figured I may as well put some of my words out there, maybe gauge interest, but mostly just to push myself to finish something that I’ve started.
Most of these words started to come to me after I had done a brief 24 hour fast last year.
Amazing what kind of creative difference a day without food makes!
Also Father’s Day and I’d rather not be behind the keyboard all day, so publishing some pre-written content is an easy win ;)
Would also like to point out that putting this out in the world is pretty damn terrifying to me but I think it’s a great opportunity to break through my fears and all of that jazz.
So without further ado, “chapters” 1 through 9 of Missing in Me:
It happened again last night.
It’s always the same. I open my eyes and she’s sitting there lighting up a cigarette. Her legs crossed but I can’t see her face behind a plume of smoke.
I’m unable to move. Unable to speak. I have no idea who she is.
She proceeds to tell me I’m a worthless piece of shit as she exhales smoke into my face.
Who does she think she is, my mother?
It’s been this way for seven, maybe eight years. It’s starting to feel like it’s happening more frequently as of late. At least once a week.
Or maybe I’m just more aware.
Is it really even a dream? Perhaps it’s some repressed memory poking through. Maybe I’m just a vision in her dreams.
Could it be that none of this is even real?
It had to have been four in the morning. Woken up again by her fucking cat letting out what sounded more like a scream queen from a slasher film than a domesticated animal.
I wish that was his curtain call. Given the night I’ve had, I can’t imagine that I’d be so lucky.
At least he didn’t break any unwashed glassware this time.
To make matters worse, I have to lead a meeting tomorrow morning bright and early at seven thirty. A meeting I was asked to lead the day before as I was leaving the office.
But that’s how it goes. The nights when she visits me tend to be rough the next day regardless. Sleep deprivation is in these days, right?
The next day went as expected. Woke up, got dressed, sloughed to work.
Sadly expected, that priority one meeting ended up being cancelled. I wish somebody had the decency to let me know before I came into work early.
That’s the insurance industry for you.
I’m starting to regret not taking that job at that trendy West Coast tech startup that tried to recruit me a while back. I’m sure they have nap pods.
Only thing left of importance today is finding out what the wife packed me for lunch.
I bet that company has better lunches too.
The drive home was more chaotic than usual. It seems this town forgets how to drive after dusk.
It seemed like there were ambulances stopped every half mile. Sirens blazing, pushing traffic to one side or the other. You’d think a bomb went off based on how many first responders were out tonight.
Great, now it’s raining. Can’t imagine conditions getting much worse.
Nothing a little wine can’t fix.
As I lay in bed, I can barely remember most of the evening.
Dinner was status quo. Protein, grain and something leafy and green. It’s supposed to be balanced, or something like that, she said.
Nothing a little wine can’t fix.
The night’s slumber was more peaceful than usual. It was downright heavenly.
I dreamed of running through an open field of wild flowers. Blue skies as far as the eye could see. Nothing mattered but her and I.
In that moment we were one.
The rest of the week ended up a blur.
Office life ends up being a series of stressful events coupled with halfhearted celebrations.
It was her birthday the other day, and his the next. Shitty store bought cake somehow gives people meaning.
This isn’t my life, but I wake up to it every day.
The holiday weekend snuck up on me. I decided to take the time to catch up on some well deserved rest.
Then she showed up.
That night was like all the rest. Laying there, crippled by the sound of her voice. Am I awake or is this a dream?
Yet somehow, something was different. It was like somebody else was in the room with her.
Paralyzed as she verbally abused me, I was able to make out a set of yellow eyes peering behind her.
After all of this time, I was experiencing something entirely different. Or perhaps I had just become more aware.
To be continued…