Well. That wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Life just threw me a dung-encrusted curve ball. If I had gonads, I’d be that guy rolling round on the ground, screaming  in unadulterated misery. What happened has got me all doubled over and I’m not sure I’ll ever be upright again. Methinks this kind of life-changer puts scoliosis in your spine and you walk with a permanent tilt.

You and me, life, we ain’t friends no more. I don’t like you. HE liked you, hell, HE loved and adored you, sucked the…well, the marrow out of you. And your reward for the dedication? Banish him to the permanent time-out corner.

Big mistake. Big, big mistake. You slammed your hand down on one of the good bugs. I know you don’t give a shit. I envy you that. Feeling nothing is perhaps the ultimate nirvana. But there’s time enough for oblivion, as you so kindly showed me.

So, do you see my one-fingered salute? Get used to it. It’s not coming down. Sure, I’ll smile and grin, maybe laugh and love. Heck, I’ll probably even move on, like I was in some god-damn fucking pop-up store to begin with. Shop is closed now, ma’am. Time to leave. Please take your business – your heart and soul and guts – elsewhere.

Well, my foot is in that door, life. Slam it as much as you like, break every bone in my foot. I’m keeping HIS shop open. Until the sweep of your hand claims this little bug. We’re resilient little sons-of-bitches, us humans. And clever too. We are immortal, in tiny ways, despite you. For now at least I’ll try to outrun you. With words. Written, spoken, whichever, they are all tiny defiant daggers raised to your throat. And I’ve got a few. He wanted me to put them down and send them out into the ether. Pushed me all the way to a book release but you took him before we could even raise a glass. No, life we are not friends anymore.

Oh, I found another tiny, immortal dagger recently. While you rained a shit-storm, I found out that I could jettison the one you took from me into deep space. Send the ashes out far, far away. So far in fact that you, dear life, may not have even been there yourself.

turtle

But in the meantime, I will sit here, waiting. Cry here, scream here and use ridiculous amounts of tissues here. I will feel myself hollow out every time something reminds me of him, which means I’m hollow a good portion of every day.  Including now. He should be bugging me about what my next blog is going to be. He should be driving me nuts with questions about how much writing I did today, and about where I’m at with the next project.

But he’s not, nor ever will be. So I sit here waiting. Waiting for an even more obscure brush of immortality, in the form of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle collectible figurine. The last in the set of four. A set he ordered for me for my birthday in February. The final piece in a collection that has taken its sweet time to be completed. I got Donatello and Leonardo a month ago, Raphael arrived two days ago. Michelangelo is the last to arrive. I don’t know when he will be here. But he will be. For all your power, life, it would take the apocalypse of all mankind to stop the chain of delivery of a stupid plastic turtle. Addressed to the one you took from me.