kirmy
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2014
- Messages
- 748
I'm on a plane coming home from work in the sky in turbulence. I extend my top lip like a giraffe to sip my coffee in between dips and troughs. You have to time it just right or you end up with tepid brown boob stains. I know. I have concentric circles of them.
I haven't been sleeping. My eyes look bruised and my cheeks sunken. I'm looking like my mother. This care worn face could belong to any of the Jackson kin. Despite railing against it her DNA has the upper hand. I have my fathers eyes though, the down turned smile and the obesity that we once shared. I'm flying towards him across continents and time zones willing him to continue for just a bit longer. His gray eyes reflecting back at me in the coffin like economy class toilet. Numb.
I have a brother. I grew up impressed by everything he did. He was funny, opinionated, well travelled and well read. He looked like Rasputin and emanated a charisma like radiation. I wanted to be him. So when I phoned him and he wept down the miles I broke too. I wanted to touch the thread entwining our lives like a sad and beautiful spiders web. "He's going, you'd better hurry". Ok ok I can do this.
Typically even in the face of my immanent suffering I always see the wry humour. Malaysia airlines sell a mighty cheap airfare these days on account of misplacing planes and annoying Separatists. That will do me. As we wept our collective grief across the thousands of miles he said the magic words of validation..."I love you"! I hiccuped my sobs. "I love you too"!
As I was about to hang up I caught his parting words. "Don't fly over Russia". I smiled my upside down smile and then entered the fray. Indeed. I hope at least I get a Lost style plot line minus polar bears.
I am a dented can of Campbell's soup in a discount bin or a wobbly Tesco trolley wheel. I feel like something utilitarian but broken enough to be annoying but not enough to throw out. And I don't want to feel. No. Not at all. There are plenty of feelings under the dumb buttoned down porridge crust coating my core. As the song goes...if you walk without rhythm you won't attract the worm. So here I am wildly staccato juggernaughhting towards the end of my paternity. Soon very soon the origin of my gray eyes will cease to live. I will be left with a wildly out of control matriarch a chronically ill sister and a charismatic addict and my only port in the storm will wink out of existence. The man I love will reach out to me from continents away powerless to stop my grief. I will have to comfort others. This I know.
I checked the manifest. We don't go near Ukraine so I'm alright and I can't see Bermuda on any of the flight paths. I may even get a randang curry out of this...but I don't feel like eating. This tiredness.....it is the deepest sadness I know. My body is exclaiming what I objectively can't. I hope sleep comes but I know it won't. Restless....
Tomorrow it begins.
I haven't been sleeping. My eyes look bruised and my cheeks sunken. I'm looking like my mother. This care worn face could belong to any of the Jackson kin. Despite railing against it her DNA has the upper hand. I have my fathers eyes though, the down turned smile and the obesity that we once shared. I'm flying towards him across continents and time zones willing him to continue for just a bit longer. His gray eyes reflecting back at me in the coffin like economy class toilet. Numb.
I have a brother. I grew up impressed by everything he did. He was funny, opinionated, well travelled and well read. He looked like Rasputin and emanated a charisma like radiation. I wanted to be him. So when I phoned him and he wept down the miles I broke too. I wanted to touch the thread entwining our lives like a sad and beautiful spiders web. "He's going, you'd better hurry". Ok ok I can do this.
Typically even in the face of my immanent suffering I always see the wry humour. Malaysia airlines sell a mighty cheap airfare these days on account of misplacing planes and annoying Separatists. That will do me. As we wept our collective grief across the thousands of miles he said the magic words of validation..."I love you"! I hiccuped my sobs. "I love you too"!
As I was about to hang up I caught his parting words. "Don't fly over Russia". I smiled my upside down smile and then entered the fray. Indeed. I hope at least I get a Lost style plot line minus polar bears.
I am a dented can of Campbell's soup in a discount bin or a wobbly Tesco trolley wheel. I feel like something utilitarian but broken enough to be annoying but not enough to throw out. And I don't want to feel. No. Not at all. There are plenty of feelings under the dumb buttoned down porridge crust coating my core. As the song goes...if you walk without rhythm you won't attract the worm. So here I am wildly staccato juggernaughhting towards the end of my paternity. Soon very soon the origin of my gray eyes will cease to live. I will be left with a wildly out of control matriarch a chronically ill sister and a charismatic addict and my only port in the storm will wink out of existence. The man I love will reach out to me from continents away powerless to stop my grief. I will have to comfort others. This I know.
I checked the manifest. We don't go near Ukraine so I'm alright and I can't see Bermuda on any of the flight paths. I may even get a randang curry out of this...but I don't feel like eating. This tiredness.....it is the deepest sadness I know. My body is exclaiming what I objectively can't. I hope sleep comes but I know it won't. Restless....
Tomorrow it begins.
