Panic and Relief

Ja. is right there.

Sitting in my kitchen telling me about his heart ache.  And I cannot even meet his eyes because he still cries out to The One, while I'm pissing and moaning about things that I have brought on myself.  Ja. is telling me all these things that would break me over and over.  And I can do nothing about it today.

This is the wind today.

This is Panic!

S.F. is right there.

And I had already succumbed to that heart rising in the throat feeling.  I try to look calm, cool and collected smoking a cigarette reading a book.  Total bad ass.  But my heart is racing.  Thinking about those lonely sleepless nights I've had without you.  You are making up for all of them right now.  Right now.  Right now.  And then she tells me about her panic.

This is bold for me to say today.

This is Panic!

S. is right there.

The one person I try to intentionally leave out of this mess that I call writing.  And he is talking and telling and yelling and I can't help but think that this person is literally the best friend I have ever, and will ever have.  And every few months I feel like we are drifting apart because I'm just to lazy to work on relationships sometimes.

This is the pattern of my friendships.

This is Panic!

Da. is right there.

Listening as I beat around the bush.  I'm trying so hard to end the conversation without telling the one person that I have trusted with this sickening addiction that I may be going mad.  And he validates, and says, "I don't envy, but I understand.  You make a good novel."

This is my second opinion when it comes to waiting.

This is Panic!

b., a., s., are all right there.

I watch this movies about homosexuals and Dick Gephardt tells me that love for children is unconditional, and I find that I already knew that.  That I didn't really need someone to tell me that no matter what my children do they will always fill me with unending  hope, and joy and love.  That they will teach me more about grace, and The One than I could ever hope to find.

This is the god of my understanding's gift.

This is Relief.

J. is not there.

And today I know, saying it out oud to a Doctor of the mental persuasion, that I have felt how freeing that is for a while now.  I'm telling b. that J. and G. know how to be good to them, but not to each other.  And that I just can't find the time to worry about her anymore.  My concerns are b., a., and s.  and myself, and the ones that I really care about now.  The ones that have been bothering to speak into my life.  Those here, and untold others that each day tell me that I'm worthwhile.  Words that I had ignored for so many years.

This is my divorce.

This is Relief.

So burn on San Alejo, St. Michael, San Martin de Porres, and Ntra. Sar De Fatima:   Remind me that I'm safe.  And that someday I will be able to sleep calm.  My God I will be able to sleep calm.

File under Virtue.