as i lay dying

Annie, you have no idea how appropriate your bow to The Sisterhood was! Your head-tip to Tibby was all too timely.

As I've sat here in bed for the past three and a half days with this dreaded cold, my sore, achy, stagnant, self has had somewhat of an epiphany, as most who lay on the edge of life and death oft times do.

The all-too wise E. Gilbert wrote, "I disappear into the person I love..." Yup. I'll nod to that. And, if that plight of self-pitty wasn't bad enough, I'll take it one step further: after the person I disappear into, disappears; when borrowed books are returned and text message conversations are terminated, why am I at the library counter with those same titles in hand? Why do I reach for the journal entries full of scribbled down text messages? When any normal individual, any person who has hope of moving on, would pick up the pieces and begin anew, I go back into the burning building. I comb the tsunami-tossed shore for tokens of the relationship, even though I know everything washed out with the tide.

In utter panic-mode, I search for a Sharpie. Scribbling out an S.O.S., I curl it up inside a bottle to send to sea along with the wild hope that it will reach that someone. That disappeared person on the other side of the world awaiting (I am sure of it) just such a bottle, ready to pull up the anchor and furl the sails, arriving at my rescue - our rescue.

Do you ever fear change so much it paralyzes you? Do you ever sit and think about how wonderful your life would be - how wonderful you know it could be and then do absolutely nothing about it? Do you ever get so falsely content watching other people up and doing, that the words "good luck," and "I'm so happy for you," spew forth from your mouth in utter obedience of this self you know could be up and doing right along with them? Of course I'm in love with the boy who is headed to Germany as I sit here, febrile and exhausted and type. Of course that kid in Colorado has a huge piece of my heart. Why? Because they are both untouchable. They are the Crush without the dreaded Curse of trying to pick myself up, dust myself off, and begin life again on my own, ready to sing The Song of Self.

While I find that movie sweet and touching and, okay, fine. I'll admit it: I cried the first time I watched that little girl (whatever her name is) die in her hospital bed, tears streaming down Tibby's face. And, while I love the idea of a package sent back and forth between best friends - sisters - I say we vow be the pant-wearers in our own lives. Pull out your favorite pair. The pair with the stains and the patches that you put there, not your best friend or your sister, or some guy, and head off into the future. Up and doing. Ready for anything.

Trust no future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
|Longfellow|