Blog crush

I am going through his whole blog. All the archives. BHJ (listed under "journal" in my blogs list to the side) hasn't written anything for 5 whole days and I weirdly started to get withdrawals. He's the one who thinks a ringing telephone is inherently rude and has other twisted, hilarious perspectives as well that make me think, laugh out loud and want to write. My current little blog crush. When he started his blog he wrote every day and I'm still on mid-summer 2008. I love this. I have been looking for something to read; I can see this is going to take a while. He uses much better words than I do. There are more of them and they're more complex. He has cool poetic and musical references that wouldn't even occur to me, but I get them when I read and sometimes they are just enough past my edge of obscure to be fascinating. I swear too goddamn much sometimes but then I throw in a word like inextricable and pretend like that evens it out. I need to use more words like inextricable. Profound, complicated words. I should have taken my Thesaurus back from my Dad's house when I was over for dinner last night.

I wonder if I could write every day. I swear, nobody even reads this thing...well, besides you...and you too...and occasionally a couple of other people and then some other surprising and unexpected people and it really freaks me out when they bring up things from this little dear diary blather of mine when I run into them randomly after two years of nothing. I'm flattered, don't get me wrong, but also feeling a little like my windows have been peeked into. Strange feeling that. Like, I left the shades open but I didn't think anyone would really be looking...sometimes I am an idiot.

I would almost feel more comfortable if people from Turkey and Iceland were tuning in. Complete strangers who can compare none of my internal monologue to my outward reality in this small, gossipy, Pleasant Valley town. They could read my odd relationship with the X and his impending demise without using it as fodder for conversation at the next happy hour for charity. There's no way I'm going to look convincingly grief stricken at the funeral if people know that I'm contemplating starting a pool as to when he'll kick off.

Oh, he got out of the hospital today finally. I predict he'll be back at a poker table with an innocent looking beverage in hand before the week is out. It's vodka and water by the way. And it won't be his only one of the evening. That's what he'll tell you...that's what you'll want to believe. It won't be true. He is a work of fiction.

Now, here's how I really feel about what I believe to be his impending demise, ungraceful exit, human trainwreck activity...I cry my face off about it on a fairly regular basis. Late at night, when I'm watching The Secret Life of Bees or some other movie everyone else has seen that I am finally catching up on, it sneaks up on me. It doesn't even have to be a touching deathstory...I think I cried about this while watching Julie and Julia also, I bet Terminator 4 could find me there too.

Anyway, it's just like when you burn your hand on the oven rack or nail your funny bone. It's the same jarring, straight-to-the-nerve-center, moment and I well up and get all weepy because he just doesn't get it! (IT, by the way, is the bigger picture, master plan, higher purpose. IT is that thing that makes you do the things you don't want to do simply because you are a human being on this planet and it is your job to be a part of that. Beat of your own drummer? Yeah me too, 100% understand that, feel like that everyday...notice my crazy shoes. Sometimes you just have to do dumb shit like wash your own clothes or cut the grass because you fucking have to. period) He doesn't want to get it. Never did. He'd rather die than get it. This is why we're divorced most of all. The worst, best, most ironic part about it is that at the rate he's going he's gonna get it. Sooner than later. Then he'll know. That idea of him being on the other side, finally knowing (and being filled with regret at an unfinished life)...that destroys me and I wake up all puffy in the morning.

How do Things 1 and 2 feel about this? Thursday when I told them he was in the hospital:
Thing 1: [shoulders slumped in classic, defeated fashion] "Is it for the same thing as last time?"
Me: "Yes. Well, kind of. It's a little worse this time."
Thing 1: "When is he gonna start eating right?!"
Me: "I don't know, sweetie. Even if he does eat right, it's more than just that. He needs to change a whole lot of stuff."
T1: [shakes head, looks at floor]
Me: "Do you want to go visit him?"
T1: "Nah, not today."

I didn't take them to visit him this go-round btw...we're not there yet.

I asked Thing 1 during:
Me: "So, what are you thinking about your Dad still being sick?"
T1: "He can't take care of himself. His mom should take better care of him."
Me: "Uh, babe, he's a grown up. Don't you think when you're a grown up you should be able to take care of yourself and not have your mom have to do everything for you?"
T1: "Ummm..."
Me: "I mean, how would you feel if you were a grown up and I treated you like a baby who couldn't do anything?"
T1: "Good point."

I told them he was getting out of the hospital:
Me: "Hey, your Dad's getting out of the hospital this afternoon."
Thing 2: [walks out of the kitchen] "Cool. At least he didn't die."

My children.

Anyway, I'm going to see if I can dedicate myself to the blog thing better and write something everyday. May not be much. Just practice. Like I said, nobody reads this anyway. Except you. I hope you will be entertained.