Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

My life is perfect.

–imperfections included, this little ball of blossoms tick-ticking away in little floats and little blossoms from the sweetest little trees of Spring are nothing more than my same little seconds floating away; blossoms tick-ticked off, and blossoms gone.

My life is so, so perfect.

*     *     *

An over-flowing bowl of fresh veggies, avocado and spinach bolani bought from the farmers market. A half-full bottle of Black Toad dark ale to go with it. Iron & Wine playing in the background. Wearing my favorite jammies in all the world: yellow “wish” sweats, and of course I.’s flannel. It’s 8:30pm.

Love. In. my. Heart.

What an amazing, simple thing just caring for someone is. To care about someone; To know someone cares about you.

Satisfying work! A challenging, forgiving, creative, and flexible job. Great coworkers. Mostly self-sufficient now, lunch with my manager, lunch with the VP of Marketing – possibilities await.

A new book to read. Tooth-deep in Stendal’s The Red and the Black – yum.

My iPhone finally synced with my work calendar – the joy! The horror! The joy! The horror!

A man. Walking home. With bag and bottle. I watch.

Words, here, at my disposal: Toothpick verbs and fat slobbery bricks of noun. A big, open lake, winking lights. And a birthday – another testament to not being yet dead! – is fastly approaching, and with it the knowledge — the cold hard fact — that with every passing year of my life, I love life more as it passes.

*     *     *

I cannot be sure I’m not in love with my ex-boyfriend. In fact, I’m certain I am, but it doesn’t matter, does it? He is gone. Only love remains.

My cat is dead. My brother is dead. My best friend is dead. My grandmother is dead. My grandfather is dead. My friend is dead. 29 years’ worth of  old selves – all dead. Everyone I know is getting older; Everyone I know is inching closer to death.

My beautiful bouquet has wilted. My freewrites go unwritten. My one-woman-show goes un-performed.

I have people at my back who believe in me. I, miraculously, believe.

*     *     *

I have So Much. I have Sunshine. I have Home. I have Life — freshly born, freshly served –every, fucking, second. I have Death, arching around my memory, curving around every living hour, and I am grateful for it.

I wake, and I am grateful.

Who do I thank for all this perfection? Who? Who do I throw myself before, en-knee, promising absolute devotion? Who do I honor? Before what God do I bow: humble, naked, pure, worshiping, grateful, grateful, grateful?!

I don’t have an answer, and so, to every person I meet, to every person I pass by, to every person that is: I will imagine it’s you.

§893 · March 16, 2010 · Daily1, Over in Oakland · Tags: , , · [Print]

1 Comment to “Absolute Perfection”

  1. Kate says:

    Perfection, Thank you. I love you. Happy Birthday. Happy you made it. xoxo

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