I’ve found myself at an impasse. A deep swirling fog, seeping its uncertainty into my nose, my mouth, seeping into my hair like the ashy parliament aroma that remains from the cigarettes I try to not smoke… Yet they’re there, in between my index and middle finger, ever present, just like my heavy leeriness.
Uncertainty: It’s a necessary episode to have in one’s life, but to make it a long running, multi season series, is another issue altogether. I try to focus on the unfailing facts of life. I wake up and assess what I can count on.
It goes something like this:
I open my eyes, they see the room around me.
I have a room around me, walls and a ceiling.
I am in a bed, there are sheets and blankets enveloping me.
My lover, husband, is beside me, sleeping.
Light is coming through the window, outside is a quiet tree lined street in East Los Angeles.
The trees that line the street are bougainvillea, the flowers are papery and often fuchsia, orange and sometimes lilac.
I stretch my limbs, my shoulders ache, I crack my knuckles, 1-2-3-4 little pops
and turn to Brandon and observe his chest, or back, depending on which direction he is facing
he is breathing.
I breathe in his scent.
I think of strange things sometimes;
If he weren’t alive, would he still smell like this?
Before the body starts to decompose, do scents and laughs and personalities
evaporate with life?
I haven’t gotten out of bed yet and the cat arrives, demanding affection.
Cat is black and white, with green sweet eyes and he is soft.
He always finds the sensitive spot on my chest to trample.
He pushes his head into my hands for caresses.
He meows incessantly while doing this.
These presences are cherished. These are the unconditional reminders of the grace in my life.
My uncertainties are a cat’s cradle pattern, tangled up with vocational existentialism.
That’s quite a mouthful, yet it is what it is.
It’s one thing to have a passion, and another to make it a walk of life.
My uncertainties are here:
How, can I take a passion, and make it a trade?
Some days I think I’m on that path, other days I fear I’m at a dead end.
I won’t know until I get there, and that, is another damned