Lately grief seems to be what coats like pollen, welling eyes and running noses. Deaths, heartbreaks, losses and letdowns in almost every direction. I'm sort of shocked how many places it has settled. It has all been second-hand but I have felt it for those I love. Grief is not an emotion, it's far too strong to fit in such a transient receptacle. More of an affliction, a grip of sorts. It is one of only a few bits of banal humanity: fear, love, grief, anger, humor; communicated not through words but through living. I think I've written about the contractions of grief before; those waves that hit and hit and hit ceaselessly, driving one down into the sand without time to even try to gain a footing. The first contractions of grief are constant and consuming. That is all there is. It is in those moments when it is OK to not be OK, as to even pretend adds yet another millstone to a body already sinking under weight. But as time passes, the contractions weaken and the time between them increases. Life grows up in the spaces between. Strange how contractions in someone who loves us brings us into the world, and oftentimes contractions are what is felt at our leaving.
Complete gear shift: Can anyone tell me why “Girlfriend” by Avril Lavigne is so damn catchy? It's like rubbing crack in my ears, I need more as soon as it ends. Sonic OxyCotin or something. It's freakin' me out a bit. Hey (HEY!) You (YOU!) I don't like your girlfriend.
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