Friday, November 11, 2011

Loser







*



Three days off.



Thanks, Veterans.



*



So, the Wild Woman of Borneo is living under our roof now, waiting for the miracle of birth. We are all on pins and needles, except for her, it seems. She tends to get all unraveled with the little shit that bugs her, but the big stuff just seems to roll off her back.

Maybe the small stuff feels like she has some control over the outcome, I don't know. That woman is the deepest mystery of my life, how she turned out to be the way she is, what she is, how to interact with her. A writhing, seething mass of dangerous contradictions.

She's got this boy hanging around her now.

Talk about an awkward romance. I think of him as Joseph, dragging Mary around from inn to inn, looking for a place to crash.

They are both in recovery and under the court's thumb. It breaks your damn heart to look at them, it really does.

You never seen anything more fragile seeming in your life.


*


Myself I feel pretty damn good. Tethered to my amazing woman I feel as grounded as I am likely to get, and ready for the storm. Not tensed up about it, either, just ready. Almost healed up, too.




It's all good.



*



Open, open, open.



*



Namaste.




***



18 Comments:

Blogger Ms. Moon said...

Those words, "Open, open, open," made me cry. They reminded me of when I was giving birth to my third child- a huge baby- and I was squatting on the floor of our bedroom and I was doing everything in my power to get that baby out and I was chanting, "Come on, baby, I love you baby," and visualizing my body opening wide like the widest flower to let her out and it was so hard and it was scary and there was nothing to do but be open and that was the hardest thing I ever did.
And yet, there was no choice about it.
So. That's my story.
I'm still crying.
Stay open, dear Tearful. It is the only way.

8:37 AM  
Blogger LKD said...

Extreme close quarters combat. Ah. Finally, a phrase for the life and death conflicts my little brother and I used to engage in regularly on the front lawn for all to see. I've never been a physical fighter in my life except for those brutal hand to hand I kill you or you kill me sessions. I don't know what would set us off, but man, we'd go at each other like animals.

I miss that. That expression of rage on a physical level was deeply satisfying. We were always so worn out afterwards that we'd just sit there in the grass panting, unable to speak.

Your description of your girl's boy as a hapless Joseph dragging Mary around looking for a place to crash made me smile.

I'd never tamper with your art, sir. I'd never mess with your vision. Still, I can't help wishing that the girl's t-shirt was emblazoned with the word "WINNING" instead of loser.

As for your daughter and those little things getting to her, man oh man, can I relate. My whole life, I've been known as Miss Cooler than a Cucumber, Miss No Panic Button about the big things, but present me with a window shade that doesn't snap up the instant I touch it and I lose it. I used to break shades on a regular basis. Maybe it is a control thing. Although, really, I've just always felt that the universe was conspiring against me in all the little things. Ha.

Peace to you and yours, brother.

9:11 AM  
Blogger 21k said...

I feel this fragility, and your readiness. It's a beautiful thing.

xoxo

10:39 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Ms. Moon-

the thought of childbirth makes me always think about how one faces death. you know it's coming, and there isn't a thing in the world you can do to stop it. The brave lean into it, I suppose.


What a beautiful moment.

yrs-


tearful

12:28 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Laurel-

Yep, that sounds like you alright.

And I think she's wearing that 'loser' shirt ironically. Maybe she's talking to the viewer, or the world. I don't know.

I'd just never make art with any kind of upbeat phrase like 'winner'.

unless it was ironic as hell.


always good to hear your thoughts, thank you.

yrs-

tearful

12:30 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Deirdre-

Yeah, that fragility, it's like the new river ice you wrote about last week. Beautiful, crackly, bright, and too thin to hold you up.


But it's all we've got, isn't it.

love-

tearful

12:32 PM  
Blogger Angella Lister said...

that girl's shirt may say loser but everything else about her reveals the lie. she's badass.

my god. a baby. and your hearts open wide. this has a kind of hush to it, a quiet miracle taking place.

4:54 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

I'm gonna send my son and his g.friend over to help y'all out.





*runs away*

6:01 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

Okay but seriously I am in love with that car and that girl oh fuck yes I know them both. Also I'm slightly drunk. On like a quarter glass of wine. I rarely drink and this is so fine. We are in the middle of a kick ass lightning storm and I'm so excited I could slash through all the wires with my bare hands.

love,
Rebecca

6:02 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

psps. There was nothing precious about birthing my son. I did slap his father in the face with a damp wash cloth so hard it left a huge welt and I screamed YOU FUCKING BREATHE IF YOU THINK IT'S SO FUCKING IMPORTANT.


the end.

xo


pspsps wv: Scout


hahahahaha for reals.

6:04 PM  
Blogger Petit fleur said...

Life is fragile, yes. And so unpredictable.

Open indeed.

Keep us posted.
xo

8:51 PM  
Blogger LKD said...

Oh, the winning was intended as totally, wholly ironic.

As in Charlie Sheen's winning.

As in losing everything but convinced that you're still winning. And hell, maybe by losing everything, that is a kind of winning.

As in winning by destroying everything.

A god or goddess of destruction kind of winning.

But hey, I know you got it right with your word choice.

I think part of art, the magical part, is that we can, each, individually, interact with it, and recreate it to suit our own particular visions.

Like Christina's World. I saw hope in a painting that was really clawing desperation.

That, brother, is the beauty of art.

8:49 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Angella-

Oh, she's a badass alright.

And, yes, to the quiet hush, as well.


yrs-

Scott

3:31 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Dear Radish-

Sometimes it feels like I could open a door in my house and find myself standing in your kitchen, or out in your yard, screaming at your neighbors.

You keep a good eye on that boy of yours. Them girls like her will eat him alive if he lets it happen.

I guess you know what's what.


love-

Scott

3:33 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

PF-

You will always be kept in the loop, I promise.

yrs-


Scott

3:34 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Laurel-

I can't look at any Wyeth now without I think of you.

I love him best of many artists, in a way. For his detail, his beautiful brush, his way with light, and his narrative depth and complexity.

Some will dismiss him as an illustrator, but they miss the mark.

He's deeply weird, and attentive, and skillful.

That's how you make a damn artist, isn't it.

yrs-


Scott

3:36 PM  
Blogger nursemyra said...

A baby on the way? May 2012 hold many happy surprises for you all

1:03 PM  
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I sincerely hope that you can be happy forever and I hope you don't contact me. I'm afraid we couldn't control, but I really hope I can be with you, but I can't do this.

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You are in my life the most cherished a person. I want to forever keep all this. I really don't want to lose you.

12:39 AM  

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