I think I was probably crying when it happened.
|16048. Nice work readers, nice work.|
I did a major possession purge over Thanksgiving week. Currently there are at least a dozen boxes and just as many bags of my soon to be former possessions creating a fire hazard in my underground parking space in the garage of my building. The semi threatening email I received from the property manager insists they must be moved by Saturday which is exactly the day after they will be moved because the Salvation Army (who hates me for being gay, but I didn’t find that out until after I scheduled the pickup AND I’m craving Chik Fil A like a motherfucker–damn menstruation and it’s lack of cohesion with social justice) is picking them up.
It was mostly a non-monumental experience. It felt good to make space… this apartment has lacked it since we moved in almost six months ago because I brought 1400 sq feet of house into 600 sq feet of apartment–it was the best I could do at the time.
The monumental moment came when I picked up a stuffed bear who has been missing it’s nose for at least 25 years… probably closer to 30 because my little brother bit it off and as I gave it a goodbye hug I started sobbing. I ended up curled in the fetal position on my bed amid white plastic trash bags stuffed like sausages full of clothes I haven’t been wearing because they’re either ugly, too big, or both… wailing, while my tears made a horrid mascara stain pool on my pillowcase.
Devon was there. She was in the living room at the time working and her need for a bathroom break coincided with my breakdown nicely. Before I knew it I was being cradled and after a minute of that the “why the fuck am I crying” question echoing in my thoughts was replaced by “oh, that’s why”
when “I miss my poppa” came out of my mouth without hesitation.
I don’t usually call him that (or at least without choking). It’s his “name” or it was, but I just say “my dad” when I talk about him because it’s easier. But there it was on my lips like it was natural and there the feeling was too… crystal clear… like it had never left. But the thing is I hadn’t felt it for what felt like years.
I said it and the recognizing of the feeling resonated and reflected in her eyes. More holding commenced. It’s good to be loved. It helps a sudden outburst of emotion resulting from an encounter with a stuffed bear named “bear” that turns out to be about someone whose been dead for 21 years be okay… good even.
Wondering where the sex is in this post? Well folks… being in love… totally sexy. Feeling safe enough to be a blubbery raccoon eyed mess and let your wounded sad little girl out to cry… totally sexy. I’m telling you… sexy is big stuff.