And my traveling companions Are ghosts and empty sockets I’m looking at ghosts and empties But I’ve reason to believe We all will be received In Graceland
I’m doing a reading in Atlanta in June at MINT gallery, and I have like 3 essays tied up together that I’m trying to write while also just trying to understand SPSS and craniofacial abnormalities, really, so there is a lot on my mind.
Anyway the thing that is annoying is knowing that you want to write an essay and Paul Simon wrote one verse that sums it up better than your essay ever will :/
Someone liked a photo a friend posted from the wedding last summer and I just spent 15 minutes living in the past. 15 wonderful minutes.
I’m sorry, I feel like I have nothing great or important to say lately, and they tell you that if you have nothing great to say you shouldn’t say anything at all, but this is the internet so that rule doesn’t apply from what I can tell. Either that or everything is important on the internet.
When I was a kid I grew up with my mom singing us Jesus Christ Superstar, which I think I’ve mentioned before because it’s just so much a part of me and so deeply engrained in my being that it just has to have come up before. After she started drinking really heavily I would sometimes come home to her sitting on the floor, slumped over and singing this song. It was her absolute favorite song to sing when she’d been drinking. And the worst part is that my mom had a gorgeous voice, so much better than mine, that it actually still sounded pretty good even though she was drunk. I tried writing an essay about this once but it didn’t turn out right.
Every Easter I go for a run to Jesus Christ Superstar, I’ve been following this routine for years. I cannot listen to this soundtrack without thinking of her and this year has been harder. I’m even more aware that I can’t hit the notes, I’m even more aware that I misuse my voice and I can’t sing like she could and also that she is gone. I find her coming up in conversation all the time, I find myself showing people pictures of her and talking about the funny things she did. But it is hard to get it all down. I’m getting used to death and the fallibility of bodies.
April is hard. It would have been her 51st birthday, and now this is the first Easter without her, which doesn’t hurt because we’re especially Catholic or I had some tradition with her, but because I am singing these songs into nothingness. I miss knowing my mom is surviving.