I Need a Fucking Towel

Posted July 31, 2017 1 Comment by Monica

It just comes in waves, my friend. Wave after wave after wave after wave.

Sometimes, the waves only hit me chest high and I remain standing when they hit, bruised and aching, but otherwise okay. Sometimes, the waves lap deliciously at my feet. It feels safe but if I pay close attention, I can see the ground is slowly eroding underneath me. Then, there are times when the waves go right over my head and I’m left tumbling in the water, smashing into debris.

After DJ died, I wrote a post about what was left behind…flotsam and jetsam…detritus floating and swirling around in the water. The smallest, most insignificant things become dangerous when the waves pull me under. Tiny books about love turn into small bricks that smart like hell when they poke me with their sharp corners. Pictures morph into all-knowing, all-seeing eyes that watch me while I struggle to break to the surface and breathe. Small, insignificant items like q-tips fucking remind me that I wasn’t the one who kept the house intact and functioning while they jab at me with an insane fury as I attempt to stop tumbling around and around like a damp ball of clothes in the clothes dryer.

Then, all of a sudden, the giant wave retracts and I have to decide what my next move is going to be…do I suck in another breath and wait to be knocked over again or do I wait and see if it’s going to hit me with the same intense fury it hit me with before? Do I stand my ground, even though it is constantly shifting underneath my feet?

Everyone says time will make it better. Well, I’m standing here, cold and shivering and damp and as far as I’m concerned, time is only making waves.

 

 

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Monica View All →

I enjoy reading and have blogged in the past about travel and books. My latest blog is a vanity blog. I write about whatever comes to mind, specifically, things I think I need in life. Hope you enjoy!