It's both comforting and disconcerting when a bartender knows what you'll be drinking for the evening.
"Let me get you a gin and tonic," he said quietly as he walked over to the table. As he passed me by to go back to get the drinks, he patted me on the back. The tears had already filled my eyes. No matter how much I tried to hide it in the dark of the bar, sadness permeated the air around me.
Fortunately, my sadness wasn't a contagion as a loud young woman plied herself with martinis and flirted with two men--one who looked like he could be her brother and the other looked old enough to be her father. Who knows? They could have been an oddly matched family. It's always hard to tell these things when you don't really have a vested interest in your surroundings, and I didn't that evening.
Hurricane Ike and I were competing for exhaling the most wind and water that evening. I think that he won, but not by a large margin, mind you. (We were both crying over a man in the same place but I would never want to hurt people and property as he did. I was raised better than that.)
The friend who patted my hand and told me that I was, in fact, going to be fine, to be more than fine, helped me more than she'll ever realize. And of course she's correct in saying that grieving over people and things takes as long as it's going to take.
I was also reminded that it is okay to feel.
I had several moments this week thinking that more often than not these pieces of writing are more than inconsequential, they are vainglorious, they are strange, they are pointless, they are rambling, and they are exhibitionist (to a point of course) but they are mine.
One of my cleverest friends is, I believe, both interested and utterly confused as to why I choose to write this stuff down at all. (Although he admittedly uses to blog to gauge how "particularly high strung" I am on a given day or week. )
Sometimes I think that I write this stuff because I missed my calling as a cultural commentator/ egotistical talking head. Other times, I write because I'm shite at telling people what I think or feel, and still other times this writing is just an experiment or an outlet for creativity.
It is what it is (whatever that means), and for now, I'll keep writing. And if I feel uncomfortable and decide that I need to change the location of this blog, I promise that I'll let those of you who care to know (and who I care to know) where I've continued my writings.