There is more laughing than crying. I threw balls of wadded up paper into the opened pocket planner of an obnoxious man speaking into his cell phone on the train as if he was making an announcement to everyone about emergency exits. He said things like “Because I’m the boss, that’s why!” and “You don’t have time for dessert when I’m calling!” And then there’s Dave sending me videos of surf anti-hero Christian Fletcher attending the funeral of one of his closest friends. “What a psycho,” he says. “How about just roll your friend’s bones up and smoke ’em like it’s the formalist thing in the world.” And then I’m the loudest person on the train snort-laughing like Maureen used to. Even now when it seems like death is surrounding me, begging me to acknowledge it and embrace it like I try to with life, I’m still laughing. And I think, I might as well.
It’s almost as though I didn’t expect the seasons to come the same way. Like I thought everything would be different now just because my life was suddenly becoming so different. But May so far has been just as grey as always and even the end of April had showers despite the lack of lowered jet stream. This is not a complaint, though.
Sprout is almost here. Everyone tells me so, and I absorb this information and nod my head as if, of course, I know, but sometimes I’m not sure I really do. Maybe my knowing comes in other ways like how my senses have been taking in everything lately; the smell of hot lint that the dryer spits out of the vent and onto the back porch, the taste of the salt that sticks to my upper lip, the way Scott’s beard feels on my face, the smell of jasmine whirling in the air in the supermarket parking lot when I’m trying not to get run over by an old lady, the scratching sound of warm water wax across a new surfboard, the way inanimate objects seem to look back at you.
Life is so seriously overwhelming sometimes. And when I have random crying spells about it I sincerely regret buying the kleenex infused with Vicks Vapor Rub. At least the fact that they make my eyes feel like they’re leaking fire always makes me laugh.
p.s. the pictures at the beach are from when I met my long-time blog friend Kari and her friend Kate while they were in town.
p.p.s. thought I’d post a link to these beautiful empathy cards made by cancer survivor Emily Mcdowell in this post. I wish I’d seen them sooner.
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