To make you feel my love

I was asked why I haven’t kept writing here.   I think the best answer is because I’m lazy.  I am.  I am a lazy writer.  Lazy at most things.  Lazy at eating right, exercising, cleaning house, just lazy at the thing I aught to do, or want to do.  That sounded so cruel.  I am though.  I wish it wasn’t so.  Especially with my writing.  I wish I craved reading like I crave tuning out to Netflix.  And truthfully, it’s been a long time since I wrote something I really liked.  But then all writers say they hate their writing, but I find that hard to believe.  There’s a woman in my writing group who writes like gold and even she says she gets sick of her own voice and shuts her writing away in a drawer.  Her voice is nearly flawless.  I never tire of her writing.  

But mine.  It seems drull, and dumb, and pointless.  

I start the same stories over and over again.  Truthfully I keep trying to tell the story of how the man and I met and came to be in love.  I write it down because it’s so fun to remember, and I want to remember, because remembering conjures up the old feelings, and those feelings are so precious to me.  I remember what I was wearing the first time he kissed me: black leggings and an oversized USC sweatshirt.  I hate USC.  He had a mustache and it tickled.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was kissing my friend.  I felt the urge to laugh and cry.  He was so certain and I was so scared.  There were these two weeks where no one knew what we were doing and I got no work done and even snuck off on lunch breaks to be with him.  I would do just about anything to have those two weeks again.  They were unreal.  So much fun.  One night in particular where we stayed up nearly the entire night taking turns playing our favorite songs and telling stories and fighting over who’s turn it was(as usual I cheated and played more than one song on my turn).  He played Steve Earl, and Richard Buckley, and Leonard Cohen.  And I played Patty Griffin, and Ray Lamontagne, and Martin Sexton.  And I was crazy about this one song, by The Black Keys guy, Dan Auerbach – When the Night Comes.  And i thought it was so romantic, and he thought it was so sad, for reasons beyond the song, because it captured all the unknowns about us, all the doubt I had, and so even now we can’t really listen to it together.  I remember, I let him hear a few recordings of me singing, and he kept them and played them when I wasn’t around, and i found them on his ipod.  I had a gigantic pile of stuff that stayed on one chair in his living room for two weeks, and when I took it all away, and finally packed the stuff back in my car, he said he felt so sad to see the chair empty again.  I was convinced that he was too good for me, and wrong for me, and that I should run.  And I did, in fact.  I flew.  I flew to Seattle and it was there, on a very lonely day, seated outside a used bookstore, that I figured out I had to be with him.  It took me another 5 hours to tell him, and one very forced date with a stranger who I thought should be “the one” for me to realize I was too scared to choose what was so obviously right there in front of me.  Him.  And I remember driving in the dark, mostly lost, trying to find my grandmother’s house in the middle of nowhere, and we’re on the phone, and I’m telling him that I’m stupid, and an idiot, and that I’d love for him to keep me if he was still willing, and luckily, reluctantly, he was.  I barely survived the next two days until I flew back to LA and he met me at the airport and we stood a long time hugging, nervous like we had just met, though it’d been years and we said Hi, like strangers in love do, like in the movies, and we held hands.  And I forgetting the best part, that a week earlier, when we were a secret, we snuck out to dinner and this old, old man was our waiter, Andre, and he spoiled us and brought us extra food, and told my Him that I was so beautiful, and then, unexpectedly, Andre said something so poignant and I can’t remember the exact wording, but it was so tremendously heart wrenching that both Him and I had teary eyes.  What was it Andre said?  I just remember the end — She loves you.  And my Him, he hesitated, and looked a little crushed, and I turned red in the face and Andre reiterated, No, I’ve seen the way she looks at you, she really does.    

I did. And i do. 

He said that night that he’d never tire of holding my hand and even on our worst days, he still does.  

Beginnings are so fantastic, arn’t they?  We’re so lucky to have beginnings.  

I have a belly ache tonight, and the flu, and a headache.  But I got to sit with a few friends and laugh so hard that I felt like I might die.  Laughing makes me grateful and sickeningly nostalgic.  

Ok, there’s my attempt at re-entering the blogging world.  I hope I didn’t make you barfy with my romance memories.  I’m a a total sucker for romance.  I pretend to be very brave, and aloof, and too sophisticated.  But I love it.  I gooey, gushingly love it.

I should put a song on here to finish this self-indulgent madness.  i need a really sappy love song.  I can’t decide between a Randy Newman, Bob Dylan, or Patty Griffin song.  Bob Dylan.  Though there’s no great version of this song.  Someone still needs to cover it good.  But for now, I’ll put Adele, though neither of us like her voice too much, but she seems sweet, and I used to sing this to him, and so, 

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