Something Real

No one can be positive ALL the time… And recently I’ve received permission to take a break from the cotton candy pitches I make for this here London adventure – to pout. We’re not necessarily going to go into great detail regarding the screaming, crying, snot, or tears – but the pouting seems near enough polite to mention, don’t you think? Just keep your eyes peeled for a more interesting blog post by Drew, entitled The Exorcism of Jen in London… The point. It wasn’t until today that I granted myself the go ahead to lay it all out for you. Here it goes.

(Now would be a good time for you non touch-y feel-y types to skip on over to icanhascheezburger.com if you don’t really want to get to know me. Go on, if you want to. 1) I’ll never know. 2) This post is really for me.)

It was rude of me to sneak off line for a little break without so much as a simple warning for you six kind and faithful readers. I’d like to apologize, but I really don’t have the strength. You see, at some point on or before the three month anniversary of her death the internet just suddenly became inconsequential. I had no will to attempt any witty sentiment or post any photos of what suddenly seemed like a God forsaken land of grey lonely reminders of everything I had lost when she left me. The 26th washed over me like a waterfall of nails and a three day weekend loomed menacing in front of me – I was paralyzed by the thought of the soft brown sheets I buried my face in when my sister told me to get the next flight. This unrest, the bitter unease, was something for which I was completely unprepared.

I can only apologize if at some point in the last three months I’ve been dishonest with you. I am not ‘fine’, but I didn’t know that when you asked. I may have more than I need and I may be hopeful, but I am not ‘fine’. You could say that I am as well as should or could be and that might be pretty darn near true. ‘Fine’ is just a polite way to shuffle past an actual answer. What you should know is that I’m still ‘ok’ even if though I’m not ‘fine’. Are we all clear on definitions now? Do you forgive me? Can we muddle through this bit so that tomorrow I can go for something a little more like entertainment?

Ok, so, the long and short of it is this: my face. My hands. This flat where I got the call. The tub that’s hard to climb into and out of. My voice, the never ending storm of emotion, the capacity I have to love someone I don’t know, my desire to lick my wounds in dark and silence, my love/hate relationship with adventures and new things… These are the pieces of her that live in my every breath and from which I cannot escape. Every step on this pavement wakes the devil on my shoulder. She says that I chose London over being near my mother; I abandoned her for a city of drunks and stand off-ish suits. She tells me I was selfish. She reminds me that I was supposed to fly home in May until my new job meant more to me than being near the woman who had brought me into this world. She drives me near to madness.

And Drew is her arch nemesis. She retreats in his presence. This is his super power- he saves my life on regular basis.

I don’t plan to become self-destructive by keeping silent; I won’t lay down in this fight. But I may find a better word to utilize than ‘fine’. If that’s ok with you. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. Cup of tea, anyone?

www.drewandjengotolondon.com