Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Sadness

i dont know why i write anymore. I dont make money from it. Corporate communications is cash now. So i dont know why i do it. I dont polish it or edit it or save it anymore. I just spurt. I dont know how a woman feels. Women always tell us how we feel. But they dont know. i know how a man feels. Writing used to be my sex. When a man ejaculates it’s so many emotions in the mixture. Stress and fear and love and joy and anger all mixed with the liquids and the frictions. Ejaculate. Yeah i use that word. Im so goddamned tired of denying the scientific facts just to slicken social slather. Writing used to be my sex. But it‘s not anymore so i dont know why i write.

i walked my mother from her rocking chair to the dining room table tonight. I hold her like a pair skater. Our arms figure eighting so she’s balanced and stable on her feet. On the table i have her medicine. And my dad’s. 3x5 cards with the name and the time. Im careful. No mistakes. At the table i start to cry. Not sob. Seep. I do that now. Throughout the day. I seep. Tonight my sister asked me why im so emotional lately. Theyre not used to my trickles. 30 years went by without even a lump slurring my pronunciations but now everyday i weep. “is it the medicine?” She asks. My medicine. Heart meds mostly. “i dunno” i slurred.

But i do know. Im sad. So now i ask myself, whats wrong with sadness? Why isnt this considered a valid emotion? Im sad. I’m fucking sad. Im lifting my mother into bed throughout the day. Im sad. Im helping my dad bathe. Im sad. I check my foot times and times and times a day. Im sad. my heart is beating me to death. Im sad. I check my mothers emails for her. mother’s best and last friend is dying. We’re sad. I look at old pictures of joy and laughter and love. theyre all faded by the sheen of loss and losing. Why wouldnt i be sad? Which kind of man wouldnt feel sadness? I used to think myself a fraud. Less than man. Missing elements of manhood. But now i know the biological fact of sorrow and shedding and sadness. i dont know why i write anymore. Its not like sex anymore. My emotions are flaccid. my solutions are impotent. I dont feel fucked. I feel sad.

No comments:

Post a Comment