A clearer head, a better day.

So, I've been thinking about my last post a lot, and I realize why it's been such a tough week. We are here in China doing a training exchange with traditional Chines opera performers. They are so physically adept. The acrobatics they know are beyond amazing. I realize that you would have had so much to offer, and receive from this experience, where as I feel like a stick in the mud who can barely do a back bend, or a passable cart wheel. People are flipping themselves all over each other, and I just wish so bad that you could be participating because you were the skilled one! You moved so well! And me... I'm just funny, and maybe, well, I think that's all. Just funny.
I get so mad at you for dying. "Look what you could be doing!!!" I say, exasperated into the air- at you, hoping that you can hear me. 
And all this baby business is absurd. I don't want a baby. I want our baby. I wish we were having a baby.
I want things that I can't have, and it makes me sad. I want our black haired daughter with her dad's beautiful eyes. I want our son, with my excellent sense of humor. But no, not possible, so I get upset, and negate all the wonderful things I've done, and all the wonderful people I've been lucky to meet since you left me that stupid June night, and it's not fair. 
Knowing now why I've been such an emotional wreck all week makes it all bit more bearable, and that's good. Not great, but good good good.

I'm in China...where are you???

Today is another day. Tomorrow is another day. Day upon day. Week upon week. The sun goes up, the sun goes down.  The world keeps moving. Your absence is astounding. Being in a foreign land- away from diversions- people, alcohol, weed, and a kitten- makes me remember all too well how much I absolutely miss you. I miss your love. I miss your affections. I miss being your girl. Sometimes I want a baby. Is that crazy? Why does your absence make me want to have a baby? I don't know. Maybe I don't want a baby. Maybe I just want you. You wrote me letters. I liked your letters. No one writes me letters now. I wish you could write me a letter. I'm depressed. I am venting to you. Hopefully next time I write I'll be in better spirits. Can I tell you a secret? (You are not the only one I miss.) I believe my heart is big enough.  

I'm trying my heart out!

Baby, I want to raise money for you.
We have a lot of work ahead of us.
This is what I'm listening to:
Chelsea Hotel # 2

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
And that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.

Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around.

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."

And then you got away, didn't you babe...

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
 
I think of you quite often. Every second is shared with your image. I refuse to let go of it whether I choose to or not. You are there, and I love you. I've been creating quite a commotion as I tackle this self employment thing head first.  I've been acting quite impulsively, as usual, but this time everything seems a bit more serious and weighted. It's quite exciting, and I find myself embracing uncertainty with familial ease. It's how I've been operating for over a year now, so I'm glad I'm getting better at it. Anxiety levels are at normal, and overall quality of life feels above average. The machine guns are lowered, and the guards are taking a well needed smoke break.

But not for long. They've got work to do. 
 

Another outburst from perhaps another life...

I'd like for the part of my brain that apparently has a rhythm and blues section in it to turn on more consistently. We could have a neo folk album just in time for the holiday rush. We'd make a fortune. 
I'm thinking millions of dollars.  


http://soundcloud.com/ciao-frau/you-go-gurl

It's September again.

You died over a year ago. You died. 
The other night I got my palm read by this older woman named Jackie. She is a fortune teller. She's the best I've ever encountered. She told me I was going to die young, and then the room fell silent- which was pretty impressive, as there was a party in full swing, and no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of us. Jackie broke the tension by continuing her train of thought, "and when I mean young, I mean late sixties, seventy..." I'm quite certain everyone exhaled at the same time, and that a few of us vocally released a variation of "phew." The party then picked right up where it left off.  40 years seems like a good amount of time. Manageable, but I should maybe pick up the pace in a couple of areas:
-money making
-art making
-home making
-friend making
-baby making

-language making

-book making

-cake baking

There is some definite overlap.

You died, and became something beyond me. I experience you in a different way now that is all at once familiar, disarming, sound, and crazy.  

All I know is that I love you. All I know is that I want to live a good life. All I know is that I like the sun, and sun tanning. I like my hair.  
And that it's nice to smile. Laughing's quite nice, and so is stretching. I like animals, and acquiring smallish, antique furniture. I love to work with my hands- with every part of me. I like to sing about the moon, and the June, and the Spring. Ah, yes all I know is what I like. 


And what I dislike.


Which we won't talk about just yet. 


  

A thought.

We will always be young together. Forever and ever, you and I will be young lovers.

No other memories will exist. We will always have supple bodies, active minds, the thrill of youth—

you and I.

I miss working with you.

God, you were so good!
You were lightening fast!
Open! A natural!
Wondeferously wonderful!
Of course, everyone only has good things to say about you!
You were excellent!
Thank you for loving me. 
It will always be an honor that I was your lady.
Thank you for working with me. How lucky was I!
I am honored that I was your partner. 
I will miss you for the rest of my life.
I will sing you praises for the rest of my life.