I am leaving tomorrow morning for Phoenix, meeting my dad at the airport there. He will arrive an hour after I arrive and I wonder if I can down a few shots of tequila, chase down some drugs, get high, have a few cigarettes, get a tan then have enough time to brush my teeth to get rid of the ashtray smell and still make it to his gate on time. I am totally frantic, wading out the door through the detritus of my life. DO I SMELL SMOKE? MY HEELS ARE ON FIRE.
On the way home tonight I passed a couple out taking their dogs for a walk. One of the dogs was a yellow Labrador, a genuine Oregon old growth dog well over two thousand dog years old with ferns growing on his back. I got so sad about dog death and his imminent purple shot I started crying and had mascara wiped all over my cheeks by the time I got home.
I DON'T WANT TO HOLD A DOG AND WATCH THE LIFE GO OUT OF THEIR EYES AGAIN. I DON'T WANT TO BALANCE MY CHECKBOOK AGAIN PRETENDING THAT I CAN STAVE OFF FINANCIAL RUIN. I DON'T WANT TO OPEN THE HAMPER AND FIND CRUSHING VOLUMES OF DIRTY CLOTHES. I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE AND LET THESE DUST BUNNIES GET BIGGER AND BIGGER WHILE I AM GONE. I COULDN'T POSSIBLY STAY HERE AND IGNORE THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE WITHIN ARMS REACH.
Sometimes I feel so much like I am in control of my life, adjusting sails, applying measured pressure to the brakes... but then everything falls apart all at once and I find I can't even manage the very simple things.
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