23 June, 2011

things that are beautiful (drunk? moi? whatever makes you think so?)

these are things that are beautiful:

  • sitting on the balcony listening over and over and over to this and crying because of one small death in a book which brings my whole fear of death into sharp relief, no, not my death, who cares about that? i mean the death of those near and dear and even those a little further away, because it is the whole multitudinous multifaceted knotty colourful interrelated glorious mess of all the people that makes this place ok, that makes me want to continue to breathe, including those of you in the blogosphere whom i've never met, and those of you whom i met and loved and no longer see and miss, and those of you whom i only started to get to know and now will have a chance to get to know better, and those who knocked me out with your wit and wisdom, and those who ate and drank with me and listened to my endless tales, and those of you whom i like, and those of you have annoyed me lately but whom i still consider friends, and those of you whom i've neglected, and those who do not read this, and those who do, and everyone really, (not including the assholes in trucks who made me want to do murder today), and those who made my day by thanking me for making them bleed and talking them through it, and those who smiled at the crosswalk and well, hell, everyone (except for those truck driving assholes - you are the mosquitoes in my ecosystem, most likely necessary but, fuck, so annoying!). so there's that.
  • spinning and spinning on my beautiful new honey-coloured floor to that same song, knowing that my inner ear will not be pleased but spinning like a five year old just because this song makes me want to run through grass, do cartwheels and spin, spin, spin until i fall down, and how often does a song like that come along? not often enough, i tell you!
  • knowing, as i cry, that i am crying for the death of a good, talented, warm, sweet man at whose funeral i was on monday
  • being more broke than we've been in a good long while and somehow knowing it'll be ok
  • eating a whole half of a watermelon for supper
  • getting seemingly smashed on 1.5 glasses of red wine (what gives? long week at work? 2 whole days' worth? really?)
  • watching the storm clouds roll in (few things beat a prairie storm)
  • looking forward to a trip to vancouver soon to see old friends, and new friends and the sea
  • looking in the mirror and seeing my face, make-up running, nose grotesquely swollen, rapidly greying hair frizzy as hell and knowing that it is my face and it shall continue to be my face until i cease to be me, and that it's ok, all ok, the rapidly expanding mid-section, and frizzy hair, and strangely caprine days, and seeing the shy peeking out of maternal grandmother and others who have come before and thinking that come what may, this is who i am and it's been good and, i hope, shall continue to be good
  • thinking that perhaps this life was all i was ever capable of living, that this isn't some failure of potential, some stupendous failure of mine to be the best that i can be, but, simply, the best that i can be. how freeing, how lovely, how nice to think that this, here, is what i am and what i ought to be. 
  • thinking that perhaps i ought to have a breathalyzer hooked up to this here thing, but hey, i don't and it's all good!


Country Gent said...

Life's beautiful. Always.

crusty juggler said...

I hope those good thoughts persist, even in the most harshly sober moments. I'm particularly fond of your second to last point.

the polish chick said...

c.g. - yes.

c.j. - it was a later addition, and i am not surprised you like it. after all, we both suffer from that damn heavy albatross named potential.

puncturedbicycle said...

Yes, I also liked that point. I think being the best at anything is overrated.

This was a lovely post!

Alison Cross said...

This was a lovely post and you got me all swimmy-eyed here because it is SUCH shit when you have to go to a friend's funeral (((hug))

Ali xxxxx

Lucy said...

How did I miss this before. Really rather glorious. 'Write drunk', polish sober, but maybe not too much of the second, especially as you'd only had 1.5 glasses.

the polish chick said...

thank you, lucy. it was odd how those 1.5 glasses affected me. it's odd how sometimes you can glug a whole bottle of the stuff and feel merely a little giggly, and other times a glass and a half turns you maudlin drunk. i think i prefer the latter; it's cheaper and easier on the liver.