Happy Anniversary

October 27, 2010

Three years ago we got married. The night before our wedding we slept apart. Last night, that nearly happened again. Only now, we can’t afford a hotel.

We used to have cute pet names for one another like “Honey” and “Sweetie Pie.” Now, he calls me “Wet blanket” and occasionally, “Bitch.”

We used to support one another, now his words of support are “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

We used to talk, now we do our best communicating through Google Chat.

We used to have dreams, now he expresses his ambition by looking out the kitchen window and saying things like “Maybe, I will move out.”

There is no doubt I am to blame. I am impossible to please. (need witty ending…)

Dylan and Allen

October 26, 2010

I am seeing Bob Dylan live for the first time tonight. I am sure my current husband had no idea when he surprised me with tickets as an anniversary gift what it would mean to me.

Wednesday is our three year anniversary. A little over three years ago my dear friend Allen took his life after a long battle with a degenerative spinal disease. Allen was a musician and as he would no longer be able to walk or have use of his hands or control of his mobility was too much. Allen was one of a close group of friends from high school. Allen had been my prom date and although we were never more than friends, he remains a great love in my life.

Growing up, there are times when you witness a friend doing something and halt, realizing that they have surpassed you with talent and are moving on beyond where you thought you were as peers. That happened on a night our sophomore year when Colleen and I arrived at Wes Frace’s garage party. Allen was at the center with a guitar and microphone singing Like a Rolling Stone and singing beautifully. Allen was a Bob Dylan fan as a very young person. He taught us about Dylan’s music and not just the hits.

Seeing Allen perform and realizing Allen could sing, play the guitar, and the harmonica jolted my brain-learning I barely knew him. I immediately wanted to be closer to him.

My dear friend Amanda and her husband stayed close with Allen after we graduated from high school. The three of them were teachers in Ann Arbor public schools. Amanda and Joel assisted Allen when he became ill with domestic duties that were troublesome due to his illness. The three of them had Bob Dylan tickets for a concert that was planned shortly after Allen took his life.

Tonight I will be thinking of Allen, Joel, Amanda, Beth, Colleen, and Jennifer and the days when we would be driving around Grand Ledge listening to Bob with few cares. I miss my friends, but I appreciate music and how it creates a strong fabric that keeps memories so close to the surface of my heart.

Addendum: This feels sappy – so I wanted to add a bit about the time that we went to see Joan Baez with Allen at Michigan Fest. He was not nice to her (she couldn’t hear him.) He criticized her for only doing covers. That night the girls in our group were not fond of Allen. He seemed a pompous musician… We were on Joan’s side that night.

I’m going back to the start

September 10, 2009

Nobody said it was easy

This is a sad story, I will have to tell you tomorrow… (I came back to this weeks later) Well, he was sick and cool and could not take it anymore. His death last year was the only thing that could bring my friends back together again. We were all there for the funeral, we got drunk after and let it all out. I sobbed like I have not sobbed for years. I miss him. I miss them. Time moves too fast. Where are they? Where am I? Those times were real. That is me. This is just shit. Please connect. Time is short. 36? What the fuck?

Where do you keep your memories? Do you write in journals, keep photo albums, sketch, or bring home souvenirs? I take pictures or write it all down. The last trip I went on, to Disney, I couldn’t write much about it, so I took a lot of pictures with no people in them. When I went to Memphis, I took pictures and wrote about it when I got home, but could only share the writing with two people and a world of strangers.

Our “things” are a catalog of our lives and our dreams are our way of dusting off the memories of the day. It is important to get it down before we go. I lost a close friend. He ended it all and although I knew the why I never really knew the depth of his journey- his catalog of memories. The people close to you will want to know. They will be starving to know. Sitting in the backyard listening to records drinking beer and reminiscing about you after the funeral. Then, years after you go they will still wonder about those things you left.

Give them the answer.

It happened again today. We pulled into Berkey Hall to walk over to The Peanut Barre for lunch. I looked good in my new 70’s jeans, Go to the Mirror jewelery and The Who t-shirt. I knew he would be there. Sure, we broke up in 2005. I have moved around the area a lot since then. He hasn’t moved, but we have both gotten married. He is so totally over me, and as I am sure you can tell, I am completely over him.

He has gone down in history as the only boy that has broke up with me. He held tough and left, turned his back and never looked back. You can ask anyone such as Heather or Jennifer – I know when I am going to see him. I can call it like that baseball player that points to the outfield and then hits a home run. I felt it when I arrived at Eastwood, The River Trail and most certainly The Peanut Barrel.

The most embarrassing time was when I was talking about him to Jennifer in Ann Taylor and there he was waiting for his girl near the dressing room. He could have heard me, I am not sure. We spoke for a brief moment and moved on.

This town is big enough for the both of us, it really is. I truly do not think about him very much. He is not even my FB Friend for christsake. — but if he asked I would click accept for sure. 😉

“Busy is just another name for Asshole. And Asshole is the name of the guy you think you are dating.”

** Holy Shit **

I have it figured out and this has been true since the first boyfriend.

I ONLY don’t like MYSELF when I think of MYSELF when I am next to you.

Maybe I never was the marrying kind.

He comes home high and drunk and passes out early. That is his passion. That is what he won’t give up. It is called music. I say I want to to go to a friends house for an afternoon on the weekend and he says in a baby voice, “Well, do you want to spend any time with me this weekend?” I realize I am only 36 but I have lived through a few Memorial Day weekends. And if I remember correctly they have all lasted three days. You have your celebratory Friday night, Saturday, Sunday and then Monday. Don’t do that to me. You have been off JAMBING (what the hell? Learn to spell) almost every Friday, Saturday or Sunday night since I met you.

I am not fulfilled and that is changing. I have the power to change. So get out of the way. Dr. White had told me that as I walk down my road people on the roadside will try to distract me and get me to come over. It bothers them to see me walking by because it makes THEM realize they ARE NOT walking, but merely standing on the side watching others move along.

I saw Dr. White in 2001. Now all of this is starting to sink in.