How is it that moms always seem to know what's going on even when you don't say anything? There must be some psychic connection that goes beyond the umbilical chord. This world is getting even smaller, and it's impossible to escape.
Today I went back into my reverie, wishing that Hashem could bless me by waking up tomorrow 3 years earlier with the knowledge and experiences I have now and grant me a second chance. Why? Because it's easier than this. I hate having a question mark on my life. I hate that not a week goes by where I don't wish for simpler time. But I suppose I brought this upon myself and that I can change it at any given moment. I mean, what's easier than returning to New York, being with my family and friends, going after my dream job, being able to frequent my favorite poetry readings and being constantly motivated to achieve more.
Maybe my mom sensed all this. Maybe something was put into the universe. What did all my odd dreams mean last night? I fell asleep in a drunken fog, only to dream as such and awake in the same way. I dreamt I received a text msg. that said "I wanna come over. I love you." Was that wishful thinking? When I awoke I checked my phone only to confirm that it was, in fact, just a dream.
When checking my e-mail I got a quick note from my mom saying that this world is even smaller and I'll never guess in a million years who she bumped into. Before she could even tell me her story I knew...something to do with the ex. And so when I called her this afternoon, I allowed her to get worked up and excited, I feigned suspense, and then I beat her to the punch line. Ex's parents and younger brother in small, but popular, local falafel joint. They had a random conversation, figured out from where they recognized each other, and I was sent regards from ex's mom. What I lovely lady. I think sometimes that's the hardest part of a breakup with a serious relationship. Because in the whole time that you're dating, you're not just dating that person, but also his family. And in my reveries I am not so sad for what I had with him, but who I was at the time, and also because when you break up with that person, you break up with his family.
Sometimes I would wish that I could call up his mom sometime and just talk about shoes, or ask her for the recipe of my favorite dish that she would make especially for me when I would stay over on Shabbat, making sure to save a couple of pieces of eggplant for me on the side. In a way I became a daughter to her. It was pre-mature. I had no ring on my finger, not with a diamond at least, no real sign that said "I am a part of this family." And yet I felt I was. I think the main time I did was not when I would be invited to family functions or be there to help out in times of sadness, but once when I was unconsciously singing while doing the dishes and his younger brother told me I was just like their mom for that action. It was so beautiful and moving, maybe even unknown to me at the time. What I would give to feel a comfort like that and safety.
I hope that tonight will be something of contentness. Learning with my chevruta about Shabbat, meeting with friends to hear some good jazz, and hopefully returning home with a high not from wine or substances, but just from the simplicity of the evening. I'm tired of being in a funk. I'm tired of watching the way I speak in front of others. Tonight, I just want to be.
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in the bereavement of time passed i was saddenned by the end of days, the still life portraits of painted memories, the carving glare of washed down effacement in yesterday, etched along i was only so scared for so long, today i knew i was a writer exactly 1 lifetime ago, i can feel it in my bones, i can stretch back a yard and still see syllables standing sedentary, almost as if 18th street were real, almost as if the flash reaction in my veins to the placing of a bet were like a heroin high, a monsoon of feeling overwhelms, i was not made for number crunching, it has no feeling yet the change in values makes me sick, weary and addicted, it's as if adding and adding only make less...
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