deep in the ocean, there lies a wave for you

It’s like the universe doesn’t realize that the last thing I need are reminders. I go to message Cella on gchat, thinking she’s invisible, and there’s his name under hers. Hold the cursor over it and his thumbnail photo of Patrick Swayze in Roadhouse pops up. As if he’s just not available to chat at the moment – Clark is offline.

And I cleaned out the car last week and a VHS copy of the movie was under the passenger seat, along with his soccer cleats. Then I get an order at work from a kid in England, and he wants a Dismemberment Plan CD and the Statehood CD. I tell Eric, who tells me that our friend Andy was going to New York two weekends ago and a girl on the bus was listening to Lies and Rhetoric on her iPad. Who is this girl listening to Lies and Rhetoric on her iPad?! I must know her, right? But I probably don’t?

And the worst part is that Clark would totally love that some unnamed chick on the bus has his music funneling through her earbuds, and some Dischord fan in England wants a copy of the album almost 3 years after its release. The band is doing work on the second record this month and they hope to finish it soon.

I was home in Pennsylvania last Wednesday through Sunday, and it was one of the best vacations I’ve ever taken. Then we talked about it in therapy, and it became so clear why going to my parents’ is so great — I don’t have to worry about anything. The coffee is made when I wake up. There are piles of unread gossip magazines to catch up on, and my mom rubs my head when we watch TV. And all I have to do to show my appreciation is wash the dishes or wipe down the counter. I can do that! It’s easy, and it makes my mom so happy. And for those few days I let myself forget, for just a little while, about all of this.

A couple of things have happened. I’ve started going back to therapy, which is amazing and validating and cleansing. The woman uses the basement of her Eastern Market rowhouse as her office, and it’s beautifully decorated, and she clearly has her shit together. When I walked into her office, I immediately reached for the tissues and continued to cry throughout the entire session, even when we were just going over some general background info, and then I walked out of there fresh and unclogged. This woman used to work in hospice, and she told me, “We used to say there are two types of people in the world: those that get it, and those that don’t.” That’s kind of simple and a little bit cheesy, but totally. Yes. I love therapy because it allows me to say things out loud that scare me.

I’ve for the most part given up smoking. I haven’t bought a pack of cigarettes in about a month now, and I’ve disassociated smoking from driving and post-meals and my daily routine. That’s not to say I haven’t had cigarettes — I have. And I definitely feel better after I haven’t had any — that’s becoming more and more clear (as I sit here with a wretched hangover made worse from the few I had last night). But this is definitely a process. Clark was a big advocate of cold turkey because he did it, but he did it after a doctor looked him in the face and said, “You have cancer.” I think these baby steps will work best for me in the long run, especially since I rely on smoking when I feel lonely or sad.

Yesterday I took the metro by myself to go see my friends’ band play the DC United tailgate. Riding the train alone reminds me of when I would take the red line from Metro Center to Medical Center when Clark was in the hospital. And the escalator out of Metro’s bowels was so, so long, and I would run up, and submit my purse for approval, and they’d scan my ID, and I’d wait for the shuttle, and finally, after what seemed like hours, I’d enter his room, and he’d be so sick and weak and drugged up, but he’d say, “You’re here! I missed you so much!” and we’d snuggle and hug and forget about where we were and why we were there. It only mattered that we were seeing each other after a few hours apart.

That’s how a bad spiral of loneliness will start — with a little reminder like taking the train alone. And then I’ll want to fill that void with something – a cigarette, a cry, SOMETHING. I have to figure out how to deal with those feelings and those rough spots effectively, and I really have no clue how.

I’ve also been meaning to write about this weird experience I have where I feel nostalgia for things I haven’t actually encountered. It’s part desire to run out of here and do something new, but the taste I have in my mouth for places I’ve never been and things I’ve never done is so rich. Then sometimes I just want to go home to my parents’ house in Pennsylvania and curl up on their couch for a few weeks, write, read, watch TV for five days straight. I’m going home this coming Wednesday to do something along those lines, and I’m more excited than I’ve ever been to go back to Pennsylvania. I really can’t wait.