Sunday, September 18, 2005

The Abyss stares back

My god, I’ve turned into a stalker. I can’t get ‘every breath you take’ out of my head as I do my digging. I’ve been trying to find out more about capt. crunch. (funny, yes? that’s what I call her now...morbid, I know) It’s not easy, though. I am trying not to draw too much attention, but I guess those I’ve asked write it off as morbid curiosity. I’ve dropped a few hints that I may file a wrongful death suit. It’s an excuse, lame, but an excuse.

What am I doing? Hell! I don’t know! What do I hope to accomplish? It won’t fix anything. Why do I have to know who she is and where she goes and what she does? (well, she’s not doing a whole lot at the moment.. she’s still being tube-fed. F*cker!) Is it just some weird way of processing my loss? I’m absorbed by her. Nothing, not my work, not my hobbies, not my friends or family, nothing is on my mind like the capt. That’s gotta be it, I’ve lost my f*cking mind.

Now that’s settled, what do I know? I know that she’s divorced. No kids. Lives on base but don’t know where yet, more than likely guest housing. Career military from what I can see. More than likely they’ll discharge her. They’d have to! You can’t just keep going around running people over. And she won’t if I have any say in the matter.

I dream about it, you know. Not sleep-dreaming, but fantasize. At first, when I’d catch myself thinking of awful ways she could die, I would cringe and my mind would run away to some safe subject. But as the weeks have passed, I find a bit of comfort in thinking of terrible, ironic accidents befalling her. How about a piano falling on her head? Too quick and too messy. Hit by bus? Too cliche. Falling off the USS Enterprise and chopped into fish bait, oooh, I’m angry today. Doused with alcohol and lit up like a candle...eeew. now there’s a thought, killed by the very thing that killed my family. Okay, I have to stop this. It’s not fun anymore.

Wow, that whole thing just brought on a good solid hour of tears!! I mean big time, rolling on the floor, ‘can’t get that kind of sorrow without a pint of single malt’ tears. And there I fell asleep but didn’t dream of the capt crunch. I dreamt of our trip to Victoria and Bushart Gardens. Remember the dalias that were the size of dinner plates. And “Just Joey”? And the fantastic fireworks that ended when the stage caught fire?

The nights have turned cold early this year and I’ve had to bring the parrots inside early. Trinidad didn’t mind but Pepito hates me. Scarlet is just plain psycho. I love you. I miss you so very much. I’ve accepted that it’s somewhat a blessing that we had Lily for so short a time. If she had been older, if she’d become someone other than that tiny bundle that slept most of the time, if she’d uttered a word or smiled or played games....I can’t even go there.


Post a Comment

<< Home