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The Meaning of True Love

Even though I do own a stereo, and there is a CD player in my computer, I'm sitting here listening to Ann Peebles on my walkman - 'cos I just got a new one last night for my trip to Californey. 
 
I can't wait to get the dreck out of here.  I don't know why but the grass is greener.  I'm mentally and physically exhausted.  I just want to lay on the beach and do  n-o-t-h-i-n-g.  Granted, the time will likely be spent arguing with mom, as per usual (why do I always convince myself that "it will be different this time"), but I can have my illusions, right?  Anyway, I have an escape hatch, as I will arbitrarily choose the date upon which I catch that train down to San Diego to see an old college pal.  And - whoo hoo - there have been promises of a Mexico trip!  Ah, at long last, to set foot upon the sacred soil of the land of my ancestors... well, at least the cheesy tourist trap border town soil of my ancestors. 
 
And then... the apartment search begins in earnest upon my return.  And the beginning of the rest of whatever this life of mine is going to turn out to be.  I can't write today about the heartrending saga of a love that is weighted down with sandbags of disillusionment and malcontent.  Of the greatest love story ever told finally coming apart at the seams.  I just lack the energy.  Last night I had a carnival dream of it crashing down... it all came out... the clowns took off their make-up and went home.  I was devastated.  You were confused.  It made perfect sense.
 
Should I risk taking a library book 1/2 - way across the country?  I'm not done with Autograph Man yet.

Oh yeah... and remind me to write about the Nazis that came to visit our fair city.  That'll be a fun story.
 
M


Comments

z said…
It's hard to find the words and even harder still to truly walk away, but sometimes it is the only choice. Take care of yourself, Mayim.
7:47 am
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