Blank Space in Magical Realism

Thanks for the well wishes everyone. I’m here, I’m functioning, mostly. This time of year is usually kind of a blur anyway. Maybe all this just ups the ante a bit, more likely it’s just put off me processing anything in a meaningful way. What else is new?

Funeral came and went. Burial came and went. Weeks of trains, planes, airports, automobiles and taxis on a series of never-ending work trips. My brother and sister. My mom. Halloween came and went. I went out with friends, normal routine, elaborate party, elaborate costume. Normal on the surface but rotten inside.

Food doesn’t taste good. I can’t focus at work. Working out is the only thing I look forward to. Another thing I am struggling with is this huge wound on my face. I’m so fortunate that I can cover it up with these bangs, but they are high maintenance and often uncomfortable. It’s embarrassingly vain but I hate that there is something so ugly on me, something I need to cover up lest other people be uncomfortable. I miss my own forehead. I fear losing my hair. For now I am procrastinating on making my necessary follow-up appointments. In some ways I don’t want to know right now.

First winter swim of the season. Hiking with my mom by the Hudson River this weekend. Going into my parents’ closet - my mom’s stuff on one side, my dad’s still on the other. Over half a century together. I don’t know how she does it. Even just the administrative stuff. A is more helpful than I am. A is perfect, a god among men. That sounds like sarcasm, but it’s not. He is so patient, so helpful, so loving. He’s like a warped mirror of everything I should be. Maybe one day.

Seeing my dad’s death certificate. Messy doctor’s handwriting, but the words clear enough, “9/11 Toxicity Syndrome.” This year I thought I was finally over it, mostly. Our beautiful new Freedom Tower, the gap in our skyline almost filled. How can one day take so much from so many, and keep on taking. I know my losses are so small in the grand scheme of things, but it still hurts.

The most unusual thing is probably how ordinary everything has been, since. I’m not even binge drinking. Who’d have known - I guess that’s something I do to celebrate, not drown my sorrows. What I do is stupid small things. Playing music in my headphones too loud. Procrastinating on work things. Responding to flirty messages from an intriguing someone 8000 miles away.

So for now I am okay, with my tiny, almost imperceptible methods of self-destruction. I am holding on to my tiny vices for now, in the hopes that they will keep the huge impending blowup away, like a vaccine.

Last updated November 10, 2014