How To Measure Grief

7:23am

The time that morning that your brother walked into your room because your alarm wouldn’t stop going off, and he was going to yell at you because it was Saturday, but when you didn’t answer and he walked over to hit snooze, your eyes were open but you weren’t awake and he thought and told me later, who kills themselves on a Friday night?

19 days

What day after your death that you mother forced herself out of bed and stood at the bathroom mirror with her toothbrush in hand and realized that it was never going to get easier, that it was going to feel like this forever, and that it was only a matter of time until the day she wouldn’t get out of bed just like you hadn’t.

5min

Exactly how far into Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah that he sings the words, “Well maybe there’s a god above/ but all I’ve ever learn from love/ was how to shoot somebody outdrew you.”

30B.C.

The year Cleopatra committed suicide by asp bite, preferring this solution to the humiliation of allowing the Romans to triumph.

10in.

How many inches you cut off of your hair the day after the big fight when you wouldn’t call me for three days, but instead drove all the way downtown to that salon you read about in the paper and sat in the black vinyl chair and waited until the stylist pressed the pedal with her foot and rose you up to say to her, “Please get rid of it all.”

200mg

16 times the recommended dose of Zolpidem that the coroner found in your bloodstream on a beautiful spring Saturday afternoon when he would rather have been at his son’s Little League game and your parents would have rather been able to pretend that it was all just one big accident.

3C

Your locker number, that became my locker number, that was our locker number, until you asked me to move my books out of it and I did, but because you never changed the combination on the lock, occasionally I would leave something there for you to find, a crumpled piece of paper maybe, but never with anything written on it.

4EVR

What you carved in to the bench outside of the ice skating rink the first time I kissed you, on the cold ice under the flashing disco ball during couple’s skate, even though later you would swear that it didn’t count, and that we didn’t really love each other back then because it was only eighth grade and you only skated with me that night because you didn’t want to be the girl waiting alone in line at the concession stand for a hot pretzel.

32A

The numbers printed on the tag of your bra that would tickle my thumb as I slid my hand up and along the pale smooth skin of your back as the vertebrae of your spine gently whispered me along.

I saw Adam Zagajewski! Live!

Adam Zagajewski is the first European I've ever met who liked the US. He worked in Houston for awhile too. Then again, he's also from Poland. If you could find a person from Florence who preferred Houston, I'd give you $5. I loved his accent though. It made everything he said sound kind of brilliant and kind of creepy. It was melodic after awhile.

Considering that Adam writes poetry only in Polish and has it translated (doesn't even do it himself!) I was pretty impressed that his peoms were so lovely in English. I must not have been the only one, there were many questions during the question and answer session about his translator... more than about the poems themselves! What is truly incredible about the translation factor is that here is poet who completely gave up control of his craft! Show me the painter that left another artist add the finishing touches to his masterpiece! I'll give you another $5!

My husband and I are on the same level in every way... except the creative arts. He is not a writer, not a reader, and it doesn't occur to him to appreciate the beauty of the written word the way that I do. He owed me a favor, though, so I dragged him to the reading (key word being "dragged") and much to my amazement, while he didn't care much for the poetry, even he loved Adam. Certain things Adam said, phrases he used, "We are not loyal to our youth" and "I so often violate the chronological order" struck Mike, and he mused over them aloud all week. It was a pretty neat thing to observe, and allowed me to see a side of this man I know better than anyone that I had never seen before.

Adam also dedicated Kendra's favorite poem to her during the reading which I thought was really sweet. :)

Blue Veins and Lingerie

Lingerie. There was a young girl, who, because she didn’t yet understand what sexy was and maybe never would, decided to make her boyfriend a pin-up calendar featuring herself in all different kinds of sexy lingerie. This was when Kinko’s first started doing the calendars from pictures, and even though it’s become the least creative of things Kinko’s can do with a photo, at the time it was quite novel, and I imagine many other girls had exactly the same idea. This particular young girl couldn’t quite afford to buy 12 different types of lingerie, being that she was rather young and coming from a rough childhood (her mother was an overweight alcoholic). She wouldn’t have had much chance to wear it again if she did have the money, making twelve sets of lingerie a rather frivolous purchase anyway, but the young girl, not being particularly bright, didn’t even consider this. While not being particular bright, her rough childhood had taught her a thing or two about cheating the system, so what she did was go to an expensive lingerie boutique with another young girlfriend and a camera. This was the kind of boutique that let you try on the lingerie in their rooms made to look posh and sophisticated, and because they weren’t exactly accustomed to a clientele that was unsanitary, or that would try it on without buying it, no salesperson followed you in or hovered outside. The young girl tried on all twelve pieces of their best lingerie and struck what her young self thought to be sexy poses, although in reality, they were really only sexy to those young enough to not quite understand sexy which in a way made them sad poses. She then went and had the pictures developed, (this being before the days of digital cameras) and took the pack of pictures to Kinko’s and handed them over to a perfect stranger so that he could use these images to create a calendar for her boyfriend. This girl, not being particularly bright, did not worry for a moment that the stranger might keep a copy of her photos, and use them whenever he was feeling particularly bored or lonely. In two days, the young girl returned to pick up her calendar, and I imagine feeling quite pleased with her craftiness at only paying $15.99 for such a wonderful gift, took it home, wrapped it, and gave it to her boyfriend. I also imagine this young girl, not being particularly bright, thought she looked quite good in the photos, quite tantalizing, although if you look closely in most of them, you can see the tags still on the lingerie and the bluish veins of her legs through her pale skin.

Dog Turd with Buttercream Icing

So it was over 80 degrees for the first time in forever today and I suddenly remembered why summer isn't always what you remember it being in the dead of winter. I cannot stand being STICKY. And with the humidity, that's exactly how I felt all day. In fact, halfway through the day when I had already snapped at my husband seven times, two of which resulted in good sized arguments, he suddenly remembered and looked at me in panic, "Oh my god. You're mean when it's hot! I almost forgot!"

We got our dog Harper, in late January, so this is the first time she's experienced the heat and I have to say, I do somewhat enjoy the effect on her. She was lethargic to the point of almost pitiful, and it was nice change from the unruly spoiled brat we've raised her to be. We didn't have the air on today, and in an act of poor judgment early this morning, I let Harper drink the little bit of milk left over from my Coco Krispies. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not sure if chocolate WILL kill a dog, but I can now say from experience that it will give them gas so constant and god-awful you'll wish you were dead. So all day today, our home smelled and felt like a huge dog turd cake baking in the oven. It literally made me sick.

I just considered trying to end this all light and funny and bring it all together with a lesson, but I'm hot and sticky and the air here smells like shit and frankly, I just don't feel like it.

The end.