Six Impossible Possibles by Brunch

I’m nervous about tomorrow. I shouldn’t be but my audience will be 40 people instead of the usual 15 and I’m worried I won’t be able to hold sway over such a large crowd at once. I know that I can… I just want to do well is all and my brain turns that into constant reminders of shouldn’t you be practicing right now? Are you prepared for the potential catastrophes? What if they don’t like your jokes, don’t get your references, hate looking at you, what will you do? How will you recover? And, I’ve worked bigger rooms, with more significantly titled humans and in those instances the feeling was the same ahead of it- a million panic attacks, over preparation and then inevitable success. Instead of just arguing against my anxiety with alcohol to quiet the shit down, I’ve set an alarm for 6 PM to let myself prep and rehearse until I feel slick with it and like I can improvise in the moment if I need to so I can sleep well tonight. I’ll be fine. These people are going to love me. Everyone does.

When I turned 47 I went to Malibu. At 48 I went to Hawaii. At 49 I got back stage passes for myself to see my favorite band and sit on stage for their set. Technically going to Spain and France and Monaco was my trip for 50 but it wasn’t on the day itself. All the others were. So on the day I thought perhaps I’ll just drive down to Carmel by the Sea but then I heard they are all really conservative in that area and honestly I don’t feel like trying to figure that out on my birthday. So then I thought well I can just bop over to Santa Cruz for the day instead and I still might but then Vegas came to mind. Having lived there, I can always go to Vegas and enjoy myself. So many memories there. That might be okay. But I don’t want to get so fucked up like I always do that I’m running around parking structures trying to escape scary looking dudes I overflirted with that got handsy. Then I remember, I’m turning 50-ha, I’m old, nobody is going to be running up on me, nobody will probably even see me, this might be the best trip there ever, a chance to blend into the background for once. The last time I was there, like 2 years ago now, I’m walking down the strip and a guy told me I was the only one who looked alive, which is why he was trying to sell me something but this year, I’ll fade into the old people moseying about background of things and who will even care. Nobody does.

Last year I went on a date with a guy who seemed pretty into me. It wasn’t obvious to me until I met him in person that his affection only went so far as sex and at that moment I felt expensive and dismissed him without even so much as a sniff- but a parting kiss since I had assumed we’d never cross paths again. A year goes by and suddenly I’m digging through the same old dating apps I used to dig through when I felt like I needed more male attention and who pops up but the guy from last year. I couldn’t remember exactly how things went but I remembered that I hadn’t seen his ass for a year so obviously old me didn’t want to be bothered with me and why should new me? Trust what you knew then and not what you feel now. And then he said he was so glad that I came back because he was looking for me and craving me.That kiss had his ass shook. He broke down the whole scene for me, it had been burned into his retinas- he was still there in the park that day, dick hard, furious that he had not conquered me. Well lucky for him I hadnt had sex in as many months and he was at least familar to me and I was sure I could take him if he tried to get out of hand so my vagina was like fine, I could use the practice and so I did what I do. I created an atmosphere that pleases me so regardless I was going to have a wonderful night. The candles and the music and the cannabis and incense, classic- I took his shoes and pants and shit in like 10 minutes after he rolled up and then I just grabbed his face, nearly shook him off his feet and kissed him to see if it was still there and you could only imagine how sweet it is to give someone exactly what they had thought they were waiting for, in a better way than they had hoped. I pulled out the karaoke mic as I like to do, and we danced and laughed and played cards. I’m feeling super big and good and nearly satisfied, I just needed some head and he didn’t know that’s why I was doing all this, was to get that, and no I didn’t have to but the whole entire thing was for me- its what I wanted and he was available to oblige. So I’ve laid a book I wrote out on the coffee table and casually said, high as a kite mind you, that he ought to pick a number and whichever he picks I will read that piece from the chapbook.
He’s rubbing my feet and thinking and says 15.
The book is called Much Like Everything Else, It Doesn’t Matter.
Page 15 starts kəˈläsəs/. I freak out a bit, because I’m high and I know who I wrote that for and the fact that this dude is sitting here and asking me to read this out loud considering the current set up is like, the most Jack Tripper from Three’s Company shit ever. So I read it and he is getting super turned on. Boys are dumb. I got what I wanted from him and a little more and he left. He texted me this morning though. I don’t know why but cute. And sad. And weird. He was so pleased with himself afterward that of course I made him put on the Damn Mika shirt that I own. The font looks like Damn Gina from back in the Martin era. I knew he didn’t get the reference but it made him wearing it more fun for me. I even let him wear my light up led black Cowboy hat. He looked like he just got the teddy bear and the carnival 3 ring toss. He will never forget that night. Of course I sent the photographic evidence to my best friend and my sorority sister. They know when they see a man in that shirt that I have just basically put a notch in my bed post. Its my wall of decapitated animals, stuffed and mounted. Totally gross. I never was a goodie goodie. Nobody really is.

Man, it’s always something. The check engine light got me thinking I’m ready for a new car, and now is not the time to be making huge purchases. It comes on, it goes off and I thought after it came on during my drive to Monterey, I better get it checked and when it did, some mechanical error came back, nobody really knows what it means and it literally said something to that effect on the paperwork. But this sucks because before my birthday I have to get my new tags, and to get tags this year I have to get a smog, and you can’t pass a fucking smog if your computer is reading errors, so I have to get the error fixed but like a doctor in a hospital seeing a peculiar rash they have no reference for, I’m talking to car people who keep shrugging they don’t know what’s wrong. Its been off for a couple of weeks now, and the most recent mechanic said, you need a new gas cap. I’m like, easy fix. I head over to the auto supply store and the clerk tells me, I have the same make and model car as you do, same year as well and you don’t need a cap. Just tighten it. Drive it for a few days. You’ll be fine. But I don’t need to be fine sir, I need to pass my smog. I didn’t say that. I’ll have to drive to Monterey again to see if it comes back on or not. For Science. My only excuse. I would have been back had this not happened. I’ll go once more. I really don’t want to buy a new car yet but I have to be able to get safely to work and the beach. Damn computer errors. I’m not complaining, really it could be much worse and even more time consuming and expensive. I just don’t understand how a thing people made can go wrong but nobody knows the real reason. I expect too much.
In the past few days that I have been blogging Ive decided to also start doing Tai Chi moves in the mornings. I feel really good. There is something to that stretching and slowing down and moving intentionally, isn’t there? The goal is to do it every day just for a few minutes to practice and see how I feel at the end. I’ll be stronger. Have a little more discipline. Remember what actually matters to me and that I can’t take a thing. Might as well be able to bend while I can and walk and stretch. None of the days before were promised and neither are any after today. Little things like journaling and moving, even if it’s just carrying the moon help one stay grounded. I’m prone to fly away on a feather and that looks really rather sedentary from the outside. I have given up the dream of being small. But I can be agile and creak less. I can get my thoughts out so they don’t consume me, even if it’s just through stretching my finger tips. Still I can so I will. The results so far are positive. But that’s just it too, it’ll all be over soon. Might as well enjoy the bits you really enjoy.
I knew I was going to write something today and this morning I intended to send myself a photo from my phone’s gallery to use as the featured image in the post. Before I could I saw the most recent email read as the sender, the monster’s name.
My monster’s first name.
Every time I hear his name or see it on signs or read it in a passage, I smile a bit to myself. If a character in a show or movie has the same first or last name as he does, and dies, I say that’s what the hell you get and laugh. If I see it on a storefront or pass by it anywhere I pause and do something akin to prayer, and ask the spirits that hold spirits to hold him for me, wherever he is.
So seeing I got an email with NO SUBJECT LINE from someone with the same first name I think I stared at it for, I dunno, 2 million millenia. I know that if my bank sends me some random email I don’t expect demanding I log into some suspicious link in the body of the email, to check the address of where the email is coming from and see if it is formatted and spelled correctly and from the actual account of my bank before responding or clicking on anything.
So I employ this technique to this message and sure enough, its him. Kitty. Bunny. My baby. And why? Like, What the fuck? How does he always know? I just had sex yesterday after not letting anyone touch me for a full fucking year and I wake up happy as a clam about to create some art and shit and lo and behold in my email. Him. I close my eyes and check my heart beat. Tai Chi. Calm. Stay calm. I open the message and all he has said in the most fuckboy of ways is
Hey.
That’s it. And anyone else, literally anyone else, would get cussed out for this. If I’m on a dating app and someone just says fucking hey I’m not only blocking them I’m spitting on the floor while I do it. I tell myself a million things. Okay, he was drunk or something. He needs to borrow 20 bucks or something. His girlfriend/wife/whoever is pregnant now and we can never speak to each other again or something. Why is he talking to me? And then I think, fucking yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Say you want me to send you a goddamned plane ticket right now and you got it and I’ll see you when you get here. Tell me you missed me so bad and hate that we haven’t been able to be friends but how could you go on if we cant and can we? Tell me you love me and you only have 2 hours left to live and you wanted me to know before your chest explodes.
He missed me. I know he does.
I’ll never sleep again…