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.