Father's Day

Good evening,

I started writing this blog just ten days ago or so. Thought I would write a poem a day and that went down the crapper. Anyway, who cares? A poem a day, a recipe a day, a something a day just to prove... what? So I need to remember what this was truly about for me. How I need to be able to say anything I want. Somewhere. Sometime. No matter what. And no matter who reads it.

Even if no one reads it.

I started writing this when I decided to quit drinking and go to, let's be real, go BACK to AA. Once upon a  time I was a bonafide alcoholic. Then after twelve years of abstinance, I became a problem drinker. And I have spent the last ten years, almost eleven, trying to prove to myself that I was simply someone who loved good wine. When I quit drinking at the age of thirty-two (the first time), I gave up $5.00 a gallon wine from Argentina and taking my clothes off at parties. This time... I truly gave up the most important thing in my life. And I miss it every minute. I go to AA and I want to drink. I even want to drink in the morning and I never ever wanted to and never ever did it.

Cunning and baffling.

An AA meeting tonight, a miracle of friends and I want to drink. But instead I'm going to have some Ben & Jerry's. But really, it isn't the same.

I'm dying to know just how sad I really am. That is one of the reasons I've been able to stay sober on what is now day 18. I'm insanely curious to find out just how sick I really am.

FATHER'S DAY

My father died nine years ago today or tomorrow
Around Father's Day, that much I remember.
I remember because we all went to see him.
He was staying with my brother and had lost all of his weight.
I can't imagine how much pain he felt. His foot had gangrene.
One lung gone the other... going.
We had just buried my mother. She died in February.
Fourteen days after she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
They told us, my father and me. We were there together. He was hanging on for dear life itself.
He was given three months that very day.
And my mother slipped off her wedding rings and gave them to me.
She never said a word.
She never said another word.
What I remember now about her wake was seeing her in the coffin.
She looked like she had a tan.
Of course, she looked nothing like herself.
The crowd of people were almost gone.
Just a few stragglers and my brothers.
My sisters.
My kids.
Me.
And my father bent  down to hug my mother.
Only once had I ever seen him hug her. He held her a long time.
And then we all left.
I got out the door and I thought, she's still in there! We can't go!
But we did and then my father disappeared into his cancer for real.
The humor gone, the cruelty of our past very dim.
He told me he was strong enough for this and he hoped I was.
I don't know if I was.
Nine years ago I had started to drink again.
I'm sure I drank the night he died. Oh, right, yes.
A bottle in his mobile home. Wine. Probably three years old. It had been opened.
I drank it.
Good night, father. Pray for me. I'm going to find you again. If I can.

Thank you,
Maura at Night

I'm just a little bit addicted...

Hello there,

I'm actually tired enough to sleep but haven't written in a few days. Just returned from Miami where I stayed with my son and his fiance and her daughter. Now I'm in my NYC apt with my daughter who is mad at me. I just want to chill out for a little while before I resume my life as Master of the Universe, solving problems, giving advice, being selfless.

I'd rather talk about my addictions. My other daughter has her entire family on a diet that excludes grains. Turns out we're all allergic to them, who know. So of course I'm going to give them up, too. I have this wild idea that giving up grains will turn back the clock ten years. I don't mind looking like hell, I just don't want to feel like hell.

But here's the problem. Turns out I'm a little bit addicted to grains. I couldn't have told you this yesterday, but since I made up my mind to give them up (after a breakfast that included a Danish and an English muffin), I have a terrible craving.

Here are the things I am addicted to. Some I haven't had in years, some not since this morning.

Wine, cigarettes, good wine, daydreaming, complaining, bad wine, popcorn, The Office, bread, garlic olive oil on bread, Ezekiel bread, gossip, looking at Facebook, stalking people on Facebook, looking at myself in the mirror, Lindt chocolates (dark), imagining saying horrible things to strangers, conspiracy theories, books about serial killers, martyrdom, People Magazine, Kindle downloads, Itunes downloads, avoiding confrontation, coffee, Twinings tea made with two teabags, decaf coffee at night, Phish Food, did I say popcorn oh yeah, my Blackberry, and that's about it. I'm pretty sure I'm not addicted to fruit, vegetables or maybe even cake because I like them but don't really give a hoot otherwise. The above list is incomplete but I'm not ready to confess to everything. Oh, I forgot hot baths. These are all things I have either given up or am pretty sure I never will.

Here's a poem for tonight.

I'm having a midlife crisis
Shit
I thought I got through that ten years ago
When I left my husband for a maniac
Turns out it was just a bad decision
The true insanity is still ahead
But not far ahead
It's right around the corner
I'm already plotting something big
I meet strangers with funny accents and I imagine
Going to pieces with them
Far away from here
I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and
I'm shocked
I don't know that person
I want to go someplace without mirrors
If I can't see myself
Then neither can all the people
And emails
And voice mails
And text messages
And time bombs
Who are either waiting for me to drop the ball
Or want me to pick the fucking thing back up
And run like hell down their own mine fields
In my dreams I levitate and float
Everything is really close up
Like a movie
How about I just float right out of here
Maybe start the whole thing over
This time I'm going to be a real slacker
Then everything that comes will feel like winning the lottery
And every year I'm alive like money in the bank
I didn't expect to live forever
But I thought I'd always be me.

Hey, if you have a poem that means a lot to you, please send it to me. I'll post it one day. I'll write about it. Poems are people to.

Love,
Maura at Night

Lost in Space

Good evening,

I wrote a post tonight and lost it. Thought I saved it. But lost it. I'm in Miami, exhausted, anxious... but all is really well. When I am tired I feel that the world ended fifteen minutes ago and I'm late for it.

Wanted to write a poem, really did. So I found one in my "archives". Only one, as it turns out. The last time I transferred my stuff to a new computer, most of my pictures, music and poetry disappeared. I didn't know about the poems until just now.

So in their memory, here is the first poem I ever wrote. Well, the first poem I wrote after almost twenty years of being emotionally numb thanks to alcohol and cigarettes. I had gotten sober and one my my best friends immediately died of cancer.

That's what it took for me to feel something again. I learned then that you have to actually feel in order to write. Here is what I said.

IN JUNE, for Marie

In June, this June, I watched the earth

Swell and plump.  Many flowers I noticed

Found homes in fields, and somehow the late

Afternoon light looked most yellow and thick.

I do think I can touch that yellow light.

Marie grew tired this June.  I wanted

To hold her close and memorize

Her face.  Even now I can’t remember

If her eyes were gray or brown.

This June my husband saw a family of foxes

Playing. Two babies, and he said they reminded

Him of puppies. I wonder if foxes mate for life.

Marie’s bed was by the window

And we had many cool breezes this June.

I like to think the air cooled her

And she was wrapped in yellow light.

The days, they passed so quickly,

I had hoped to make a plan this June

To increase my worth. Instead,

I only managed to find July.

But I like to think that for Marie the time

Did deepen, and she drew breaths

From the well of eternity.

June finished, as always, in heat

And expectancy.  Next year I shall

Remember the hope I held

And measure what progress I made.

I shall remember how I loved you

And loved you still.  I shall remember

Your face in the thick yellow light.

I think I can touch that yellow light.

Miss you still, Marie.

Love,

Maura at Night

Sticky Business

Good Evening,

Okay, so it's early. I'm going to watch the Mavericks play the Heat. I started out as a Heat fan (well, I'm a Celtics fan but they're out of it, you know.) I though LeBron deserved to win. I followed the story and the horror when he left Cleveland and said, we all said... Dwayne Wade and Lebron James? Championship! Plus, I love Dwayne in the commercials with Charles Barkley.

But then I started watching the playoffs and Dirk and Jason Kidd and that little Puerto Rican player, they stole my heart. So tonight I'll be watching the game, maybe a championship game for the Mavericks. We shall see.

But here's my story tonight. I had acupunture recently. I didn't set out to have it done, I was seeing my chiropractor, a lovely lady named Doctor Vicky and she mentioned she does it and thought it might help my mouth pain. Oh, okay, I'll call for an appointment, I said, not meaning it. I'm free now, she said. Oh, well, I stammered. But them she brought out the big guns. She not only does acupunture, SHE WIRES THE NEEDLES TO ELECTRODES. SHE RUNS ELECTRICAL CURRENT THROUGH THE NEEDLES.

Torture? How could I say no? I got strapped to the table (just  kidding) and she stuck in the needles. It won't hurt, she said, they always say that. Four in each side of my jaw, several in my feet, hands...Then she got out the jumper cables. Let me know when you feel it, she said, turning up the dial. I looked around anxiously for the big Indian from Cukoo's Nest. I FEEL IT, I said.

She left me alone for twenty minutes. Call if you need anything, she said. And the beat of Battle Hymn of the Republic banged away at my face. Somehow I knew if I opened my mouth, I was really going to pay for it. So I suffered in the silence I have come to know and expect.

Suffering. I'm just a little bit addicted to it. Here's my poem.

REVISING MY LIFE

I lay awake at night and pretend I'm twenty-four
I'm a contestant on American Idol
I'm the Bachelorette
I'm a sought after screenwriter
My breasts are plump
I'm a good basketball player having played for the WNBA
And my mother is younger than I am now
I am an only child
My father died in the Gulf War
I will not have children in my twenties
I'm beautiful but accessible
I have suffered much but no one knows
Because I don't tell
I don't need to tell
The suffering I've endured has made cosmic sense
I've loved a woman
But have returned to men
I have done it all
I'm twenty-four
And I don't miss any of you
And I'm just too damned perfect to live another year.

Love,
Maura at Night
(go Mavs!)
P.S. Doctor Vicky is going to do some new fangled thing to my vagina in two weeks. You know you want to know about it!

Day 2 by seven minutes

I just noticed that it's after midnight and so there's really no excuse not to write another post and (since I promised) my poem for the day. Okay, here goes:

Face facts oh whatever that means
I've faced hardship and loss and even a little gain now and then
But facts?
I'd rather face the music, if you'll sing a little song for me.
Music keeps the noise down and that's a fact.

Okay, not so clever but something is coming up, something is happening to me. I'm not content, not okay. I'm somewhere between ready to give up and ready to walk out. And they are not even close to being the same thing.

It's a personal thing. More tomorrow.

Love,
Maura at Night

A poem a day

I've decided to write a poem a day. Or a  night. I can't sleep anyway, you'll learn all about my problems by reading my blogs. Or my poems. So here is my first one:

Now I lay me down to sleep

But sleeplessness is mine to keep

If I should die before I wake

No doubt it’s from the pills I take.

Awful, right? I say this prayer, that is, the real version, every night as I lay me down to sleeplessness. I don't really take pills. I would, but they just don't agree with me. Except Advil. I'm a little bit addicted to Advil. The stuff really works. I have pain in my mouth from old and future surgeries but other than that, I feel pretty good. Unless I consider how tired I am from not sleeping.

So ends my first post. It's not much, not great, not very interesting. But I promise it will get better. Because I am, after all, a damn (or is it damned?) good writer.

Love,
Maura at Night