March 22, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 10 – Cosmic Love

Today is going to be a gauntlet. I am now two weeks behind and I don’t want to give up on my goal. So, I shall attempt at writing the last two weeks and get a jump on the third. Let’s see if I can actually do it without losing my ambition. (Spoiler alert: I probably will.)

It finally happened, I came across a soundtrack that does not exist in Spotify. I was going to choose the musical score from “The Horse Whisperer” by Thomas Newman, but all they had available were these cheap covers (of a single song) that sounded as though someone had composed them from a computer program. They lacked the enchantment that comes with the live recording. So… that plan has been scrapped. Instead I chose “Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine.

I first heard this beauty in a TV spot for the film “Like Water for Elephants.” I was immediately captivated by it. And, good song choice by the one who edited the trailer, because it drew me to watch the movie. However that was the only good thing about the film.

I don’t know what it is about a song with a heavy percussion, but it just fills me with this intense joy. In this particular ballad it’s amazing because the lyrics tell of a star-crossed love, and the drums are reminiscent of a heart racing from the very thought. It also gives this mythic/fairy-tale/other-worldly vibe that I felt ironically captured the essence of my novel.

I don’t know if other writers do this, but I have a “soundtrack” of songs that fit into the frame/theme of my novel. The story told in “Cosmic Love” accompanies my narrative in this coincidental symmetry.

I wrote my first novel length work of fiction in 2009 during my first ever NaNoWriMo. Since then I have attempted to edit the fuck out of it. Every now and then I get a second wind and start the process all over. I get about halfway through and start to believe the inner voice that “I am shit at writing” and then I stop. And the number of times this has happened with this particular work in progress is uncountable.

The thought of giving up has crossed my mind many times, but I just love the story. I have it plotted out for a series of four books. The second has already been written, but I haven’t even touched that one since I began editing the first. I wanted to polish this bad boy up to a glimmering shine before I dove into it’s sequel. Which is good, because since I completed the second book the tone and overall narrative of the story has changed. For the better, I hope.

During one of my bouts of renewed vigor for editing, I got this wild itch to drive from the Central Valley of California to Salt Lake City. No idea why. The urge struck and I answered the call. My little polycule piled into the car and we drove straight through.

With this captive audience I had the boys listen to my story.

What I learned is that I am very proud of my tale. I also discovered that because of my constant restarting my front half is very well completed but the back half is lacking the glimmer of the first. Overall the story is tight and I need to stop being such a bitch about it. At this point I have to write out two full chapters and continue threads I started in the first half.

The other event that occurred during our Literary Adventure was my husband bestowing a compliment upon me. One I will never forget. He told me I was a good writer. Now… he either said this because he’s dying and he has nothing left to lose, or he said it because it is how he genuinely feels. Knowing my husband… he doesn’t dole out positive feedback unless he genuinely believes it. Hearing that made me sublimely happy.

However… What fuel I received from that trip was wasted. Life once again became overwhelming and I lost my passion. It’s much of what happened with this year long endeavor. Everything just becomes a little too much at times. Even if it is a small inconvenience. Trying to accomplish a task that isn’t absolutely necessary falls to the wayside.

March 17, 2022

My Bouquet of Balloons

It’s amazing how little I don’t know about my own emotions/feelings. It’s as if I hide all of them in these pretty little balloons to trick myself that they’re not there. But the strings are tied tight to my wrist.

Then when something with mildly jagged edges brushes against them they burst. They burst and I’m showered in my feelings and thin bits of rubber.

I explode. No longer can I pretend that those feelings weren’t there.

I want to know if that’s a me thing, or an everyone thing.

Today I was meant to meet a property owner to do an inspection. I called him at 9:05 to see if he was still coming. No answer. Already I could see the writing on the wall. (It’s funny how this same pattern happens specifically with multiple units.) I sat in my car, waiting, building up my rage by ranting to myself about this revision request I had received the other day. (They didn’t like the value I came up with for their rent comparables.)

At 9:25, five minutes before the end of our scheduled time, I tried him again. He answered and gave me this cock and bull story that his secretary was sick so he had to take her home… It was ridiculous. This idiot forgot about the appointment and was putting it on some other B.S. He informed me that the tenants knew I was coming and to just do it.

They tenants didn’t answer. Per usual.

I drove away ranting and raving, furious about this situation. (I loathe appraising multiple units.) My voice obviously carrying outside of the confines of my car because people down the street were literally looking at me. (I am naturally a loud person.)

It wasn’t until I had made it to the office that my real feelings sat on my shoulders. I could feel them pulling me down and now I’m just sad.

I hate the phrase, “you’re going through a lot.” It’s right up there with, “I’m sorry.” Every time I hear it I either roll my eyes, grit my teeth, or visibly cringe. I don’t want to hear it. Mainly because I don’t want to face it. My life is absolute misery. Everywhere I turn my life is literally falling down around me and I’m trying so hard to keep everything up, but no matter what I do these things are going to fall. These balloons are going to pop.

I need healthy ways to cope, but at the same time I’m worried what all of this grief is going to do to my brain. Yet on the flip side, one I refuse to view, is what is this denial going to do to my neural pathways? Everything in our life determines who and what we become. Even the tiniest of choices and reactions.

I want to just hide away today. I’m glad the tenants didn’t answer. I just don’t want to deal.

And to top all of this off… It’s made me a week behind with my year long writing goal.

March 7, 2022

Midnight Mumblings

It would appear that my mother’s disease has taken another unexpected hard left turn. To my knowledge it began yesterday morning when I went to pick her up. Instead of her perky self she was sobbing uncontrollably.

The nurse told me “she just started crying and asking for you. We don’t know why she’s so upset.”

Sobbing, her face bright red, I got her to my car, stowed her walker in the back seat and got behind the wheel.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She looked me dead in the eye, terror shaping the wrinkles of her face.

“Do I have a nose?” She said.

I have an awkward smile and tapped the end of her nose. “Yeah. Right here. Don’t you see it?”

“I don’t have any legs.” She said.

“Mom, you do. Look. See,” I pat her knee, “you have legs.”

“Those are someone else’s.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m dying!” She sobbed harder.

“Mom, you’re not going to die.”

I put on some Patsy Cline and drove to Starbucks to get our drinks. As the time passed she seemed to calm down. And stayed that way most of our time together. It wasn’t until the last hour when it all started to derail again.

She started rotating through a series of three stories all in the same breath. One involved her dying and having no legs or toes. The second, was her owing someone money. She didn’t have the money to pay them. She has to pay them.

The third, was when she turned my dad into a villain. He was a womanizing wife beater in her tales, which are nowhere near the truth. My father had his demons but he would and could never do those things.

I dropped her off back the home and she sobbed in even as we pulled into the parking space. “I have to be honest. I’m a Christian.”

I rolled my eyes but I had no idea what this was referring to.

Get her back to her room and she’s calm and cheery.

The next day, Sunday, the home calls me and tells me that she is inconsolable and keeps talking about having no legs. They’re concerned that she’s in pain and they don’t know. So they send her to the ER. They run all the tests. She’s healthy as a horse. Their diagnosis for this little escapade is that her dementia is progressing.

Well, no shit.

I’m curious what my visit on Tuesday will consist of. My husband (and I tend to agree) think someone may have doubled up her meds or got them mixed up with someone else’s. We think that only because of how quickly it came on. But then, when I think of how this all started it wasn’t a slow progression it was just one day she was talking absolute nonsense.

March 4, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 9 – Dueles

The poetry that happens in life is chilling sometimes. This song is one of those moments for me. It is absolutely beautiful, and the lyrics are… I will post the English translation below.

After my husband had his weight-loss surgery, he was invigorated to better himself physically. He started putting effort into the way he dressed, skin care routine, and even started to go to the gym daily. In that vein my husband had gotten it in his head that he wanted a facelift. He longed for a more prominent jawline and chin. He has a little one but mostly his face goes right to neck. This is a physical trait that runs in his family. His grandmother and aunt have this facial feature. As with most things he becomes obsessed with, he did his thorough research to find a place that could and would do the surgery at a low cost but with optimum results. That search brought him to a surgeon in Tijuana who was highly awarded and recommended.

After a photographic consultation, he scheduled his appointment and paid a deposit to hold his spot.

Then Covid happened.

He was forced to stop going to the gym and his surgery date was pushed out 6 months to allow the global pandemic to get under control. Oh, how optimistic we all were.

During that time I worked from home and he met and brought Tony into the fold. Overall pretty good times.

The day of his surgery we drove down to Mexico. The entire time, both of us had this overwhelming sense of dread. It draped over me like a cold, wet blanket. My stomach was a tight, softball ball sized knot. I couldn’t shake the feeling, and it only got worse as the day went on. At the time, I chocked it up to me being nervous about dropping him off at the hospital and crossing back over the border on my own. I’m sure I would have messed it up or been kidnapped. I mean, I’m so abductable.

Then there was the moment when he tripped on the cobblestone sidewalk and slammed, chest first, into the path. I could barely pick him up. At the time, whenever he fell it just freaked me out and filled me with so much anxiety. (It still does.) Luckily he fell right outside a farmacia, so we purchased some stuff to clean up the few scrapes he acquired in the fall.

After that, we went to his appointment and then immediately checked into our hotel. Covid restrictions were in effect, and I just remember walking through a mat SOAKED in sanitizer. I also remember, as we were dining in the hotel café, I made one cough, neglected to cover my mouth, and one of the servers looked at me with wide eyes and terror. What little Spanish I know does not include: “Don’t worry, I don’t have Covid. I’m not going to infect you.”

After dinner we returned to our room and were relaxing on the bed while watching whatever English television program I could find. For the life of me I don’t remember what it was. All I know was I was settling.

Charlie sat back perusing his phone and it is then that he perks up and says, “They updated my patient portal.”

“It says I have motoneuron disease.”

“What’s that?” I said, and grabbed my phone.

As I read the description provided by my google search results, every ounce of warmth drained from my body.

In a panic Charlie attempted to call the doctor, but got only his voicemail. It was 9 P.M. so it makes sense why he wouldn’t. So he shot him an email.

The two of us poured over more websites. I texted Josh and gave him the news. He read all he could.

“I hope this isn’t true,” he texted at some point.

The two of us started to cry. I snuggled up next to Charlie and held him as tight as I could. At one point, in a weird knee-jerk reaction, I ripped off my and his shirts and held him against my chest. In my death and dying class I had learned that skin-to-skin contact is the best way to heal emotional pain.

“I just want to go home,” he croaked out.

“Me too,” I had said.

We packed back up what little we had pulled from our bags and checked out. The front desk was confused but obliged. They ordered us a taxi and we waited out in the parking lot.

When we got into the car this song started. Through the entire length of our journey back to the border it played, setting the most somber note in the backseat. Neither one of us spoke. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything or even think. I knew if I put too much focus into it I would breakdown and I wasn’t about to be another statistic of some bitch sobbing in the backseat of a cab.

We crossed back over the border and hoofed it to the car in record time.

On the drive home, my husband made unnecessarily cruel calls to his sister and mother telling them his diagnosis. He delivered the news without any delicacy or social finesse. Neither of them broke down on the line, but we were later informed that both were devastated.

I drove the entire 4 hour drive home in about 3. When we got to our house we fixed ourselves some cocktails and hopped into the hot tub. We spent the rest of the night listening to music and getting unbelievably hammered.

The next night as Charlie and I sat alone in the hot tub, he looked me dead in the eye. Tears were running down his cheeks, his eyes red, as he implored me, “When the time comes, promise me you will help me go. When I’m ready.”

My throat tightened, along with my face muscles, as I hesitantly nodded my head.

When you were together with me,
That light was celestial.
What more could I ask for?
I found the happiness.

Without notice, we left our paradise,
and now your memory makes a shadow to my heart.

Today marks the month that you still don’t see me.
You went, nothing more,
You gave up on loving me,
Oh, and how you hurt!

While I think on you,
And in that I lost it,
I would like to avoid
To see me allowed me to love you,
For to lose you,
And you hurt me,
Oh, how you hurt!

The bumps on the skin,
They leave marks and after they leave.
They go, they go, they go,
But you broke me in two,
And I can’t find repair.

Without notice, we left our paradise,
And now your memory makes a shadow to my heart.

Today marks the month that you still don’t see me.
You went, nothing more,
You gave up on loving me,
Oh, and how you hurt!

While I think on you,
And in that I lost it,
I would like to avoid
To see me allowed me to love you,
For to lose you,
And you hurt me,
Oh, how you hurt!

Go to be free and to be happy.
Already give the same here.
With me is someone I knew,
It is a stranger and the pain let go.

Today marks the month that you still don’t see me.
You went, nothing more,
You gave up on loving me,
And you hurt me, you hurt, you hurt.

While I think on you and in that I lost it,
I would like to avoid
To see me allowed me to love you,
And you don’t know how you hurt,
You hurt,
You hurt,
You hurt me,
How you hurt!
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/dueles-hurt.html