snowgistics

18 12 2009

Today is going to be the longest Friday in recorded history.

I mean, it was always going to be bad, sitting this shift out waiting to get my dance on in West Philly, the thought of Kelly Punch looming low over my consciousness.

But with all the last-minute planning we had to crank out this morning thanks to the impending snowpocalypse (not to mention trouble-shooting, packing, and cajoling) I can’t wrest my attention away from the coming trip.

It has been a full 3 years since the birth of KimBito on the Goethal’s Bridge. I still remember the skyscape as we crossed (I was already complaining about having to pee), the long hauls on the LIRR, the vintage glass bottles of Coke and the Corona, the lovely, lonely, lost feeling of it all. The light-in-the-vast-new-dark feeling.

But I hardly remember the person I was then, the person who was so lost she could feel, somehow, found.

I remember she ate TUMS like candy, attacked alcohol like it committed some grievous insult against her honor, broke plates at New Years and howled at the moon. Despair, anxiety, rage: all these were new and welcome feelings to her, like the sting of thawing digits brought in from the cold.

And the struggle that was everyday life was alleviated, it seemed, all the more profoundly in those moments she could generate a little closeness and joy.

I don’t miss being that person, though I do sometimes miss the intensity with which she felt every moment, every word. It’s true, she was needy and whiny and confused and most of all miserable; but that state of total emotional rawness let in some of – all of? – the best feelings in my life.

The highest highs and the lowest lows, I guess. If I could, I wouldn’t go back.

But it’s the fading glow of those moments, as they recede toward the horizon of memory, that warms the periphery of my visions of the coming weekend.

How can I not be excited? The three musketeers are reuniting for a weekend of festive debauchery. Only 4 1/2 hours now until we shove off up the Jersey Turnpike toward escape…

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