I went to buy you a flower before your service. I didn't want to go.
There would be praying and tears and talk of angels
and that's beautiful but I hate that.
But I went.
I had to buy you a flower to put in a vase with the others and tell a memory or story or good wishes for you.
So I went to Safeway. I shouldn't have put it off so long- only Safeway was open when I went searching.
The floral department was dirty and meager and the flowers left over were dismal. Dull colors and browned edges. I hated them all and they weren't good enough and I failed you again.
And I won't share a memory or anything like that because I can't even speak when I think of you.

And the days are not full enough

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.
--Ezra Pound

Tonight's Disappointment Rating:

Eleven.

While attending therapy sessions as a child,

it was suggested to Mary that she might keep a tally each day of times she felt she was a disappointment, and when she felt otherwise.

Tonight as we sat quietly through the noise, she leaned over and whispered to me that tonight's tally was four-nothing in favor of disappointment.

She has yet to learn what the meaning of her tallying was supposed to be.

Nonchalance no more...

...Let's arm up and believe in something.

With the television blaring,

sitting on the couch, I watched her pick at yet another scab on her hand.
I put my hand on her shoulder to catch her eye and I shook my head.
"You'll hurt yourself more," I told her, "don't."

Walking down the hallway, she grabbed my wrist, and there was blood. I found her a band-aid, and then washed up to my elbows with diluted bleach.

I don't think I like how normal this felt.

That point--

when the condensed, still air within the bus shelter is achingly colder than that of the icy winds that surround it?

I hate that point.