this one is for tim.
i'm sorry for the times i take you for granted, overlooking you because you exist so calmly beside me, never demanding attention.
i'm sorry for the times i dont roll over in the bed and kiss you goodnight because i am distracted, i am grumpy, i am half into an ambien haze. you deserve the consistency of the love we have, delivered to you, lip to lip, calm breath to calm breath.
i'm sorry for the rough six months, though they have been filled with notes higher than i think we ever dreamed of achieving, they have also his lows that have rocked us to our foundations. i think, or am beginning to think, that the chinese curse "may you live in interesting times" is particularly relevant to us right now. the times are interesting, and our survival mode is equaled only by our celebration mode.
there must be medication for this.
i'm sorry i leave you with the girls to wrangle so often, that it becomes a hurdle of rather immense responsibility while i am in another city, eating out, shooting film, dressing models, barely sleeping. i wish you were sometimes on hand to hold my hand. i wish i were home to hold them close in sleep.
i wish alot these days.
life has a way of wounding people, airie used to say to me in college as we sat in that cafe on college avenue, drinking tea and watching people. i think it wounds you, alot.
perhaps.
but i want to deflect the wounds from you, tim, i think you are more fragile than i am. or more strong, but getting tired.
i am sorry i took this much to get this focused.
i am here now, my one.
i am making amends,
and making change,
and letting the interesting times
create more stories
than strife.
Showing posts with label sorry about that. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sorry about that. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
sorry about that (part the second) -
deep breath, we're going in for more . . .
2) to my grandfather, robert:
sorry for the fact that i couldn't say anything to you that time i drove you to your doctor's appointment when you were dying of leukemia, and told me that you were in so much pain you really just wanted to let go.
i was too young to really "get" that you were maybe telling me that you were ready, that you were calm about it, that you were tired. i was twenty. you had always been my rock, stronger than any man i knew, gruffer and smarter than any human i had ever been near, and perhaps, an idol for me.
we had spent so much of our life talking, that i was stunned that i didn't have anything to say.
when i was so young and you would walk with me through those winding roads on st. croix, where you and nana had that home at the top of the island and looked out across the sunsets and the sea, where nana thought she saw the UFO that one night and you backed her your entire life "if ellen says she saw it, it was there", who would hold my tiny hand on the beaches of that island, or on the streets of manhattan, the other island, and talk to me about what was going on in your life, and ask about mine, as if it mattered. i'm sorry, it did, i guess. it did to you.
you gave me words, you know that? you gave me The Source by Michener, and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, when i was ten. "read them every three years, they'll remind you", and though you never told me WHAT they would remind me of, i have read them every three years since i was ten. you probably gave me the need to write, to talk, to babble and rant and love the caress of language.
so when all words failed me, i felt like i failed you.
but i love you. did then. do still.
and i know you didn't need me to tell you that.
ever.
just wanted you to know.
2) to my grandfather, robert:
sorry for the fact that i couldn't say anything to you that time i drove you to your doctor's appointment when you were dying of leukemia, and told me that you were in so much pain you really just wanted to let go.
i was too young to really "get" that you were maybe telling me that you were ready, that you were calm about it, that you were tired. i was twenty. you had always been my rock, stronger than any man i knew, gruffer and smarter than any human i had ever been near, and perhaps, an idol for me.
we had spent so much of our life talking, that i was stunned that i didn't have anything to say.
when i was so young and you would walk with me through those winding roads on st. croix, where you and nana had that home at the top of the island and looked out across the sunsets and the sea, where nana thought she saw the UFO that one night and you backed her your entire life "if ellen says she saw it, it was there", who would hold my tiny hand on the beaches of that island, or on the streets of manhattan, the other island, and talk to me about what was going on in your life, and ask about mine, as if it mattered. i'm sorry, it did, i guess. it did to you.
you gave me words, you know that? you gave me The Source by Michener, and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, when i was ten. "read them every three years, they'll remind you", and though you never told me WHAT they would remind me of, i have read them every three years since i was ten. you probably gave me the need to write, to talk, to babble and rant and love the caress of language.
so when all words failed me, i felt like i failed you.
but i love you. did then. do still.
and i know you didn't need me to tell you that.
ever.
just wanted you to know.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
sorry about that (part the first) -
i'm stealing this post idea from whiskeymarie,
but i already apologized for it on her blog,
so i'm in the karmic clear here.
in an effort to reboot the blog
(not that there was anything at all wrong with it, but some of you pointed out you liked it when i TALKED occasionally rather than just posting lots of pictures, and then there was this other thing that some of you might be able to figure out, but i'm not allowed to talk about, so i won't, and i'm not, because it might lead down an ugly path involving kerosene and . . . let's say i'm talking more in an effort to focus on some positive energy. white light IN, disbelief at the randomness of people OUT . . .)
i am going to try and talk about things that shape my world.
god, tangent much, landis?
so this is an effort to make amends for some of the things i've done wrong in my life,
but haven't so much made an effort to apologize or make amends for.
huh.
gimme a minute.
ok. wait. got one.
1) to john in college, captain of the men's heavyweight crew team and really beautiful writer:
sorry that once you started the torrid affair with me in creative writing class, all big sinewy blondness and longing glances followed by awkward knee touching and art movies, followed by dinners on the floor and intense making out, followed by a few blissful secretive weeks, followed by xmas break, followed by you showing up in the next semester's class fondling the bimbo we used to make fun of, followed by you being unable to make eye contact or answer my calls . . . (ok, here's the apology part) sorry that i felt it necessary to write a thirty page thinly veiled allegory about our relationship and hand it in for the class to read and critique in front of you.
and sorry (seriously) that your then girlfriend was so dimwitted that she actually came up to me after and told me how good my story was because you had been crying for two days and that you were sick and that's why you weren't in class. that actually made me feel sick. on many levels.
not regretful. kind of sick. 'cause i think i still missed you.
oh, and sorry that when, a year later, you came up to me and told me that you regretted a lot of what you had done in your past and were in AA and would love to "get together to talk it out" while your still kind of dim girlfriend stood beside you and grinned at me, that i kind of cold-shouldered you and left the bar and never spoke to or about you again.
wow.
this is kind of harder than i thought.
i can SO see your eyes that night in the Pines, and how your legs kept moving to either side of mine, trying to touch, and how kristen (god, was that her name?) kept talking to her blonde friend. and only looking back did i realize you were reaching out, a year too late.
ah.
college love. SO rife with poetic tragedy and heartache.
john, i hope you found some happiness. i hope you wrote that book you always wanted to.
just wanted you to know.
but i already apologized for it on her blog,
so i'm in the karmic clear here.
in an effort to reboot the blog
(not that there was anything at all wrong with it, but some of you pointed out you liked it when i TALKED occasionally rather than just posting lots of pictures, and then there was this other thing that some of you might be able to figure out, but i'm not allowed to talk about, so i won't, and i'm not, because it might lead down an ugly path involving kerosene and . . . let's say i'm talking more in an effort to focus on some positive energy. white light IN, disbelief at the randomness of people OUT . . .)
i am going to try and talk about things that shape my world.
god, tangent much, landis?
so this is an effort to make amends for some of the things i've done wrong in my life,
but haven't so much made an effort to apologize or make amends for.
huh.
gimme a minute.
ok. wait. got one.
1) to john in college, captain of the men's heavyweight crew team and really beautiful writer:
sorry that once you started the torrid affair with me in creative writing class, all big sinewy blondness and longing glances followed by awkward knee touching and art movies, followed by dinners on the floor and intense making out, followed by a few blissful secretive weeks, followed by xmas break, followed by you showing up in the next semester's class fondling the bimbo we used to make fun of, followed by you being unable to make eye contact or answer my calls . . . (ok, here's the apology part) sorry that i felt it necessary to write a thirty page thinly veiled allegory about our relationship and hand it in for the class to read and critique in front of you.
and sorry (seriously) that your then girlfriend was so dimwitted that she actually came up to me after and told me how good my story was because you had been crying for two days and that you were sick and that's why you weren't in class. that actually made me feel sick. on many levels.
not regretful. kind of sick. 'cause i think i still missed you.
oh, and sorry that when, a year later, you came up to me and told me that you regretted a lot of what you had done in your past and were in AA and would love to "get together to talk it out" while your still kind of dim girlfriend stood beside you and grinned at me, that i kind of cold-shouldered you and left the bar and never spoke to or about you again.
wow.
this is kind of harder than i thought.
i can SO see your eyes that night in the Pines, and how your legs kept moving to either side of mine, trying to touch, and how kristen (god, was that her name?) kept talking to her blonde friend. and only looking back did i realize you were reaching out, a year too late.
ah.
college love. SO rife with poetic tragedy and heartache.
john, i hope you found some happiness. i hope you wrote that book you always wanted to.
just wanted you to know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)