"Dear Prudence" by Amanda Grieme

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Dear... Read On -

3/3 -Obsessed
Dear Jesse -
All I could listen to today was Pink Floyd’s Syd Barrett Tribute, “Shine On You Crazy Diamond.” Everything else made me uncomfortable. I tried listening to the Jimi Hendrix Blues Album, but it made me so restless. When Jack plays his guitar it relaxes me. He plays so beautifully; so effortlessly, like Jimi, but sweeter. His sister Elizabeth is a remarkable musician, like Jack. Her music exudes her sadness. It is her catharsis; It cradles me, and I melt,just like when I hear “Case of You” by Joni Mitchell. You should hear them. Someday.

Practice: “How’s Marc? Really ...he’s such an awesome guy. You two really lucked out! Man, I cannot remember the last time I saw you two ...was it your wedding? Wow! That was a long time ago. God, that was a beautiful wedding; on the beach! And the dolphins ... remember when the school of dolphins swam behind you when you took your vows? That was really magical. What’s that? Oh yes, we’ve got to get together soon! Perhaps we could do something this weekend? No, I promise I won’t bail out. I promise. I miss and love you, too. Give Marc a big hug for me. Bye.”
Love, Ana

3/6 - Hiding
Dear Briar -
I am so dizzy today. I can’t get my head straight. I don’t know if it is the weather? It’s like cold pea soup outside ... that weird damp that makes you shiver all over. It’s not a November damp ...but a March damp. It’s different. This damp smells like life, not death. I can just make out the green mossy roof of the boathouse outside of the window, but the fog has eaten up any inkling of the pond. It’s so invasive. I wonder if it’s foggy in NY today? It probably bugs you because of the humidity; it messes your closely-shorn curls. My hair actually looks better in pea soup. It gets a little wavy, like at the beach. That’s what this dizziness feels like right now. I feel like I have just been rolled in the waves, and I am fighting the shell bottom and the tide, trying to keep my balance and composure. When I look down, and the tide is rolling out, it washes my feet and ankles, and the sand moves so quickly. Can you picture it? And then I am walking up the beach toward a nap ... and everything saltwater spins, like my body isn’t sure if it is out of the water yet. You know that feeling? That is my brain.
Love, Ana

3/7 - Truth
Dear Briar -
Pea soup again today ... but I can see some skunkweed or something emerging across the pond. The contrast is inspiring. It’s bright green, against the stark, wet bank of the slate green pond.
I have a question that has been burning Briar; how have you perceived my bizarro behavior all of these years? Granted, my ups and downs were always hidden behind the guise of laughter, airheadedness, drunkenness, etc.. Actually, you have always brought out the fun in me, the laughter, the actress, the entertainer, the partyer, the child. Very rarely have
I been a miserable sod in your presence. I saved that for my poor, unfortunate family who would secretly hold up their crucifix’ and spread holy water when I would “grace” them with my gloom.

So what did you see me as, nuts? I miss that mania. That’s what it is called. Briar, you wouldn’t even recognize me, which is one of the reasons that I am so embarrassed to call you. I’m numb. I crashed.
I cannot find my inner party. I don’t remember how to flirt. I’m completely self-absorbed. It’s gross. I’m afraid of confrontation;
I can’t find that exhibitionist within anymore, Bri, you know the one who would pole dance on a subway car at 3:00 am. Remember? I can tell that it makes my dad sad. I overheard him say to someone that I have lost my sparkle. I’m trying to find the gap of silence, between sadness and light. I am going to climb in and experience it, and try to rekindle my spirit for the sake of living, ... for friendship. Did you think that my ability to do anything, but my inability to hold onto anything was a result of flakiness? Did you think it was because I was a Gemini?
Could you tell that I was riding on a pendulum? Was I overbearing?
I wish that I could stop thinking about it.
Love, (your once interesting friend) Ana

3/7 - Think
Dear Jesse -
It’s remarkable how women can be so multifaceted. We can be nurturing in one breath, on the defense in the next, fiendish in the next, then underhanded, followed by guilt-ridden, then flirtatious, then angry, then sad, followed by laughter. Remember how you and I used to use our beguiling feminine ways to get what we wanted, when what we wanted simply consisted of free beer, shots and intoxicants of some nature. Remember? We mastered the art of male manipulation. Well, I’ve been thinking, who says that has to end with marriage, or age 30? It’s empowering. It’s therapeutic. Do you still bat eyelashes? I think that I need to start to doing that again. It feels good. I want to feel good again. Do you feel ok?
Love, Ana

3/7 - Touch
Dear Mother Nature -
I love it when it rains. Amazing things happen when it rains. The dogs just went completely insane barking, and I simply thought that Jack was here to visit. So I peeked out the upstairs window, and framed by the wet pane was a car that I didn’t recognize. Usually, in a situation like this, I would hide upstairs, panicking until the car would drive away, but today was different. I ran downstairs, barefoot, sweater inside out, unbrushed teeth, totally disheveled, and I answered the door. It was beautiful, blue eyed Nick Jones and his mother. Nick Jones, an endearing senior student of mine, drove all the way to my parents house to deliver a basket of flowers ... roses, daisies, pansies, tulips, honeysuckle and greens arranged in a white basket. He stood there, a drop of rain dripping down his cheek, telling me how everyone missed me, and gently handed me a card signed from all of the students in the class. I hugged him, then breathed in the color, and like magic, I didn’t care about my appearance, my ugly winter white feet in a muddy puddle, or my fear of seeing people ... I was touched. I felt. It’s moments like this that I surface for air, breathe deep, and remember what alive feels like.
Thank you, Ana

3/8 - Quiet
Dear Roxy -
... and then there is that other side of feeling that I had forgotten about. Do you remember the one I mean? It is the side of feeling called anger/jealousy/rage/pain, all confused into a spinning tryst. I guess for every good there is bad; the yin and yang of life; the ebb and flow of existence; Newton’s law of physics. And I felt it yesterday Roxy. It overcame me like a freezing cold wave. I lost control of my emotions. Poor Jack took the brunt of it. But instead of hiding from it, or apologizing for my rage, I lived it. It was a whole new experience.
I screamed. I cried. It was over. It didn’t linger with me for the rest of the day like it used to. You can empathize I am sure, but wherever you are, I pray that you can no longer feel these things.

After you passed on I felt your young presence; you were in the wind.
I remember sitting outside in the cornfield at my parent’s house in Pennsylvania, and composing a letter to your family, desperately trying to express to them the beautiful impact that you had made on my life, and
I felt you. There was no heaviness, no cancer, just soft contentment. That was one of first moments in my life that I knew peace. Then I cried, and pleaded with God, or the universe to tell me why ...why such a young, beautiful soul would suffer then be snuffed out like a candle. What is the purpose? Somehow an elderly person’s passing is justified by her or his age, and the length of the life that he/she lived. But how do we explain the loss of young life? At the expense of your life, and the shattered hearts of those who love you, do you know the answers to the mystery now? Is there a universal truth? Is the body really a microcosm of the universal macrocosm? Is this life actually some form of purgatory? Who decided that you should go?
Miss you,

Ana's Download of the Day - "Madcap Laughs" by Syd Barrett
(A Comrade... and misunderstood genius...)
Please read about him (upper right margin) and enjoy his whimsicality.

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