“Good morning, heartache. Like an old friend. Come and see me again”. (Rancid)

Mary elkhound wished us all a “blissful Friday” a few days ago. I didn’t read the post until yesterday morning. I commented then that I did have a blissful Friday. Should have mentioned that I also had a most blissful weekend in general.

I tried to post several times yesterday. Random bits and pieces of thoughts mixed in with intense emotions and floating words all haphazardly strewn together on the screen.

I wasn’t happy with anything I wrote. Just like I wasn’t happy with anything my brain churned out the night before as I sat here drinking Jagerbombs and eating Doritos and bilingual chocolate. Mona is here. She tossed her bags into the front door without even knocking after being kicked into high gear by Don’s big, stupid penis. (Ha! Told you I’d actually mention it!) And Mona was the only excuse I needed last night to drown my sorrows, literally, with junk food and bitter, licorice-y concoctions.

I’m not sure that I’ll be at all happy with this post, either, but that’s something I’m trying to get away from. The need to make everything coherent and neat and concise. Cute and anecdotal. Boiled down and a bit dry. I need to stop criticizing everything that I write and remember that my very best is usually the words that I hate after I’ve hit the keys.

We are all our own worst critics.

I am no different.

My Friday…my blissful Friday.

Well, it started out with sunshine. Here in Janet Land, we seem to have completely skipped over Spring much the way that we skipped over Fall. Last weekend we had wet, disgusting snow and that sinking feeling that winter might never go away (I’m reminded of an old book my sister and I used to like as kids… “Strawberry Shortcake and the Winter That Would Not End”…). Then, * BOOM! * it was summer like outside.

I’m not complaining.

So, yes…I looked out my bedroom window from the confines of my cozy bed early Friday morning and was greeted with sunshine. Lots and lots of sunshine. But instead of feeling full and happy and excited, not only at the prospect of putting away the quilted winter jacket but by the fact that another adventure with the American Boy was about to begin, I felt shaky and strange. Sweaty and a bit mixed up. And a lot scared.

I had a very clear memory of being woken up by something at around three o’clock in the morning. Something terrifying. Something dark and sinister and yes, even evil.

I knew what it was after a few minutes of being taunted and harassed. I hadn’t yet read an e-mail from a very trusted friend, full of good advice and feelings of oneness. So, I went with my instincts and wrapped myself up in the blanket of light. I prayed HARD to my angels…to ALL angels…to protect me and keep me safe. To make me feel happy. To fill me with light. To block me from the negativity. To keep me and my family safe from the evil. To stop the harassment. I fought with everything I had to keep my thoughts as my own…to recognize and realize that the “he can’t come here. He can’t come here. He can’t come here” weren’t actually my own.

I know that I fell back to sleep at some point.

Because I remember waking up.

I remember the sunshine and the lingering doubt that I had managed to make this shit up in my head.

Except that I knew that I hadn’t. Because even I couldn’t make this shit up. And because my guys never make anything up.

So now….because I know that you’re reading this. Because I have no doubt that you’ve read every word. Because I have no doubt that you’ve read every one of his words. Because I have no doubt that your heart sang at the old poem about you. Sang at the hurt you caused him.

Because I have no doubt that your heart sinks a bit with every ounce of control you lose.

So now…because knowledge is power. And I am armed. And ready.

Now…consider yourself warned. My light will always drown out your dark. And our light together…his and mine…is more powerful than you will ever know, at least in this lifetime. It was never a competition, my dear. That’s just not how I roll. But you made it so. And with that, just for the record…

Game. Over. I. Win.

And now back to Friday.

Rock was picked up by a co-worker so that I could have the car for the first time in fucking ages. I took Michael into town after his nap and breakfast of dry Cheerios, all eaten finger to mouth, star shaped puffed rice flavoured with real banana, all eaten finger to mouth and vanilla yogurt, all eaten fistful to mouth. I took him to Wal Mart to buy juice boxes and Joe Louis and Doritos and cheese flavoured popcorn. I took my time with him, loving every minute of my shopping extravaganza with my little man. You forget, so quickly, how easy it is to do most things with just * one * child.

Then we picked Rock up from work, yakked with my mother in law and drove home, stopping only for booze from the LCBO and gas, at which point, I scraped the side of my car wheel against the barricade at the pumps. Not my finest moment, let me tell you.

I dropped the boys off at home, loaded up the car with bottled water and punk CDs and headed for the airport.

Headed for my American Boy.

Who was right on time.
Who came down in the elevator this time.
Whose sweet head I saw bobbing up above me before his descent.

I wish that I could take a piece of what I feel when I see that boy and lend it to all of you in the hopes that maybe you’d be better able at understanding what kind of connection Don and I have. Impossible, I know. But words never do it justice. Words can never fully explain how my heart jumps up into my throat with excitement and words fall short when I try to explain how my chest fills up and my masks and my layers fall away. It’s almost like I can feel the “real Janet” opening the door up a crack, peeking her head around to make sure he’s really there before finally heaving a sigh of relief. “We can come out now. It’s safe.”

And then there he was. His arms around me, my face nuzzled in the crook of his neck where I could stay forever if he let me.

And then him sitting, his face against my chest as I stood in front of him. Sitting and standing and talking and talking and talking as though we had no place else to be. No place else to go.

And then Tim Horton’s coffee. And divine water. And Canadian Maple donuts. And stories of the cargo plane. And a conversation with the gentleman in front of us.

And then leaving. Finding the kick ass parking spot. Janetk’s parking spot! Aw yeah!

Windows down. Warm air blowing in. Traffic, traffic, traffic. Middle of the city during rush hour, gridlocked from time to time, Rancid blaring on the speakers, windows still open, without a care in the world. I could sit in traffic all day with that boy in the seat next to me.

Turn the volume up. Hit the highway. Love that he loves that music. FINALLY! Someone who loves it like I do. Someone who won’t complain of a headache because of the loud, raw sound.

Turn the volume down. And talk. And talk. And talk. Remembering how much I not only * love * this boy of mine, but how much I * like * him. Remembering, all at once, how he listens. Takes it in. And then responds. Remembering, all at once, that I never get sick of him. Never get sick of listening to him. Never get sick of it…

Windows rolled down, hair blowing around. Love that he loves the windows open instead of rolled up, cold air conditioning blasting in our faces. FINALLY! Someone who prefers real air. Someone who loves it like I do.

Stop for dinner in…um…the Frew. Yeah, that’s it. A town called, the Frew.

Stop for dinner and the girl opens the door and stands back to let him in. I want to hug her. Tell her she’s made my day because she opened her eyes and stepped up to the plate. Because she wasn’t scared.

But I don’t. I sit down in the booth and immediately put my feet up into his lap and he immediately reaches down to rub my legs and touch my feet.

I miss that. Right now, in this moment, as I type, full of coffee and toast because we’re out of Rice Milk, I miss that. More than you realize. More than he realizes. More than even I realized I would.

Eat. Talk. Make ignorant comments about how many old people there are in the Frew. Then remember that he’s old, too. Ha. Eat. Talk. Talk about Spain. Talk about houses. Talk about the exciting possibilities of what is in front of us. Eat. Drink. Leave.

Operation Ivy just as loud as Rancid. Bouncing in my seat as I drive and drive and drive. Bouncing up and down to “Unity! Everyone stand together!”

Arrive at my house.

I wish that you could all sit and watch those kids with him. Watch him with those kids.

Watch Michael.

And then dare to tell me that you can’t see it.

Can’t see that connection.

Put the kids to bed. Load up the car with pajamas and socks. Beer and muffins. Cups and bottle openers. Foam and condoms.

Stand in the breezeway and talk with Rock. Feel like tipping my head back to thank the Universe yet again. Because I have my two most favorite people in the whole wide world talking not only to me, but to each other. Without competition. Without awkwardness. Without negativity at all.

Instead of thanking the Universe, though, I thank both of them. And each of them say, “Oh, no problem. It’s fine.”

Insert sigh of surprised relief here.

Leave.

Drive ten minutes to the same hotel. Park in the same spot. Walk in through the same door. And receive the same room. January’s room.

Say, “this is weird” about twenty times.

But know that it’s different. That we will change it. In only minutes.

Never turn the TV on because we now don’t need the background noise. We are enough. Six months into this and we are enough. Drink a bit. Eat a little bit. Drink a bit more.

And then fall into each other.

The falling is wonderful.

And then wrap ourselves up in one another. No agenda. No timeline.

We are enough.

And the wrapping is wonderful.

I could stay like that forever.

Sleep until Saturday arrives.

Fall again.

And stay wrapped up for the entire day.

Eating only muffins and juice. Doritos and cheese popcorn. Never leaving the room. Not once. Not for anything.

Fall again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And then stay wrapped up in one another.

I could stay like that forever.

Sleep a bit. Until night falls.

Sleep some more.

A perfect Saturday. A blissful Saturday. Exactly what we both needed without ever realizing it.

Sunday morning. Slow and peaceful start. After a few hours of blissful touch, a shower to wash off the scent of one another. The scent of sweet sweat tangled up with the smell of bodies in motion.

And then Mona. Calling an end to it. Revolting against the penis. Ha. The big, stupid penis. Ha! Said it again!

Leave the room. Leave it changed forever. Know we won’t be back to it. It’s been altered enough so that we can move forward.

Drive to the drug store. Look for glasses that don’t exist. Buy some “feminine napkins”. (Okay, that still makes me want to giggle, Don). Buy some breakfast ice cream. Eat it in the car. Scare the kid next to us in the driver’s seat by doing absolutely nothing. Leave as his Mom returns. Drive to the waterfront park here in Janet Land. It’s a beautiful day. A day for sitting with the person you love the most. A day for sitting in front of the water, arms wrapped up, legs tangled, hearts beating against one another.

I could stay like that forever.

Drive to lunch. Eat. Laugh. Talk.

Drive to the airport.

Windows rolled down. No music this time, though. Our voices are enough. Clear some things up. Make promises that will be kept. Reassure him that I am not her. Never have been. Never will be.

My light is stronger than her dark. I know this much is true. And I will not allow him to go back there. Will not allow him to be swallowed whole again. I will keep him close. My light is stronger than her dark.

My love is stronger. Stronger than her. Stronger than all of them put together.

Know that as each of us carries the other, we learn to stand on our own.

Arrive at the airport. Park in the same exact spot. Janetk’s spot! Aw yeah!

Walk in. Ride up in the elevator.

The flight is delayed. The airline is fucked. Fucked up. And everything falls apart.

And I fall apart.

Sit and cry even though I promised that I wouldn’t. Sit and cry into his shoulder. And beg. Beg him to just come home with me. Please come home with me. Please.

I don’t want him to sit and wait. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want him to arrive home at an ungodly hour. I just want him to come home with me. Because maybe, just maybe, if I can get him back into my car. And maybe, just maybe, if I can get him to come home with me. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t leave.

Again.

Help him get checked in. Watch him walk through the swinging doors. Use every ounce of strength I have NOT to run back and smack the police officer standing in front of him, totally oblivious, upside the head. Open your eyes. Look around. And step up.

Leave.

Cry as the machine won’t take my parking ticket. Cry in front of the attendant who assures me that there will be a real person at the stand to take my money. There’s half a bill stuck in the machine.

Drive.

Blast Rancid.

“Destination unknown. Ruby, ruby, ruby soho.”

“The common man doesn’t suffer pain like this. Only the soul that has never been kissed.”

“Goddammit, man I almost had it.”

“Do you know where the power lies? And who pulls the strings? Do you know where the power lies? I said it starts and ends with you.”

“The only thing different is the way I feel about you.”

“Hey little sister. Do you know what time it was. When you finally seen all your broken dreams come crashing down your door.”

“Hello heartache. Like an old friend. Come and see me again.”

And then Operation Ivy.

“Unity! Everyone stand together!”

“All I know is that I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t know nothing.”

“Oh yeah…”

“Oi oi oi!”

Drive. And drive. And drive. Without stopping. Without slowing down.

I just wanted him to come home with me.

Blissful Friday.

Blissful weekend.

Hopeful tomorrow.

“Hello heartache. Like an old friend. Come and see me again.”