about work and love
Here. I will practice it with you.
I don’t like you anymore.
No that sounds too harsh.
I think you’re unattractive.
Ouch. That’s worse.
I don’t like you that way.
Eek. That’s just as bad as it’s not you, it’s me.
I’ve met someone else.
Well, now, that’s just a lie.
I don’t need you anymore, maybe I never needed you at all.
I’ll do what I always do, and just hope he goes away instead.
I feel like the mountain I pretend to be when I do yoga.
I stand on all four corners.
You are not needed.
But, I keep you around, because I’m scared of the time when I’ll need you again.
My mother is coming to visit.
But we laughed on the phone today.
And she was so funny.
I’m worried she won’t be in as good as mood when she comes to visit.
She’s here to see my sister, not me.
I can sit quietly and keep to myself.
I don’t have to do a thing.
I need an opinion.
My father forgot the day to call me, not the first time, understandable.
He told me stories he’s told me before.
First he’ll offer to lend me the Simon & Garfunkel vhs tape from the park, when one of them starts “Bridge Over Troubled Water” too high and has to squeak it out at the end.
He’ll tell me to read that wonderful Esquire piece about Mr. Rogers.
Then he’ll forget I told him my mother’s coming to visit.
And ask me about church.
Do I tell him he’s slipping?
I have a deadline you know.
About seven years,
Before I’m going to have to take care of my father.
If I have a family,
I could get away with that excuse as a reason not to take on the burden.
But that means I have seven years.
To get started, and wait for my dad to go,
After the dementia diagnosis.
It’s hard that my brain works.
Because I can often see what’s going to happen.
I can tell you how our relationship will go.
I can tell you exactly why we won’t work.
But sometimes, I want to feel anyway.
So I’ll give it a go against my instincts.
And he really won’t be able to take criticism.
I’ll be right and alone again.
I can’t do this job much longer.
My short-term memory is short-circuiting,
Because I’m not a computer, I’m a person.
Why won’t you treat me like a person?
I can’t do the same thing four-hundred times a day.
But I need to fix the air-conditioning in my car.
The hair on my thighs turned brown.
It’s always been blonde.
I told my sister.
She said, getting old sucks.
I usually tell people I’m blunt and honest.
Because I think that’s the truth,
But I don’t want to use it as an excuse to hurt people.
When I can’t tell if what I’m saying will be mean,
I keep quiet, I keep to myself.
And then I’m tired, and my filters fall down,
I become combative and talk too much.
I wonder if that’s who I am,
The rude woman with no censor, who hurts with abandon.
I can’t put my finger on why I dislike him.
I think because he dismissed me.
Which means he’s not an accepting person,
He’s judgmental instead,
Interested in himself.
Which means he’s been protected,
And hasn’t had to rely on other people,
Hasn’t had to rely on other bad people, who’ve done something wrong too.
I don’t know if I want to associate with someone like that,
Someone who’s so pretty, they can dismiss people.
Because their confidence provides their personality.