con / artistry

Guilty.

Dammit.

I’m so embarrassed. I’ve sat and watched The Lake House yet again. It was on, and I was doing laundry. I swear, it was not by choice.

That was a lie. And it was a marathon. It’s on right now as I speak, er, type. Not that it is a magnificent movie. Keanu Reeves is a fairly poor actor, adept only at appearing confused. Poor Sandra Bullock might as well be making out with a tree. And the dialogue, oh dear sweet juniper berries. The story? It’s just silly. These ill-matched lovers-to-be are separated by two-years time, without explanation, communicating only through messages left in a magical mailbox. Now that I type it out, it seems even stoopider than I remembered.

But I watched it again anyhow. (whispers) And I kinda like the movie.

I have seen many relationships broken by distance. Weekends on the road, driving with mountains of coffee. It’s a loneliness that I could never imagine. I know I’ve been lucky. But highways can be crossed. In the movie, though, they are separated by time. Who cares why. And for some, it doesn’t matter really–they are always separated by something. And usually, it’s not something physical like gravel and concrete. It’s easier when you can put your hands on it. You don’t have to think about it so hard.

But time? Perhaps it is a metaphor. It reminds me of night shifts, when I would only catch a glimpse of Steve once out of the week. And things when change when I got home–pillows shifted and dishes used. A ghost of someone who had been here, separated by time, unexplained. And every now and then, he would send me a message…via text.

Unique.

The baby names are out of control. Seriously.

Names just don’t mean anything anymore. There are children named after cities and alcoholic beverages and the dreadful heaven-spelled-backwards, and there always seems to be one to many x’s or y’s. Everyone seems to be trying to hit the “unique” angle, but I don’t think anyone realizes that they’re all being unique in the exact same fashion. Unique, indeed. Just like everyone else.

All I can do is smile, nod politely, and murmur “Oh! What a unique name!” To which the parents beam proudly, as if they were the first to come up with the idea of spelling Simon with 2 z’s. Yes, apparently, it can be done. At some point, it’s almost abusive. Z’s are hard to write in cursive.

But today’s winner is Tomorrow. Honest, cross my heart. And her twin sister?

Wait for it.

Shmorrow.

http://www.babynames.com/Names/Popular/

Hungry.

If I find my way through the darkest of days,
Will I laugh about the things that kept me awake?
– Daphne Loves Derby, Cue the Sun

I’ve been so hungry lately. I know that I’ve been staying up a lot. 30 hour shifts and all. But more than being tired, I’ve been hungry. I have boxes of granola and ramen at hand. I’m always up at 3 am, and I’m always hungry. I just can’t seem to truly feed myself. Do you ever have one of those nights? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? My soul has run empty. I watch the days turn gray, and I find myself waiting. And so I eat.

Bubble.

There are some things that are well beyond the limits of my control.

Now I just have to learn to accept that.

Quiet.

There is a lull at 3 am. Beyond the big glass windows on the 7th floor that is the NICU, there is just darkness. But inside, the lights are bright to the point of blinding. Nothing else breaks the silence, only the hum of fluorescence. Even the alarms have quieted, and the ventilators have gone to sleep. I turn on the iPod to keep my own thoughts at bay. I am tired tonight.

This is 4th or 5th straight week of night shifts, and it’s beginning to wear on me. I don’t see Steve for days at a time. I come home to an empty house, but he always leaves leftovers in the fridge for me. I come home the next night, and I see that the laundry has been done. There is a plate left out. There is a cup on the coffee table. It is as if there was a haunting. Little things and small changes to remind me that someone else was here. I just never see him. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be alone.

I call him sometimes at night. His voice is hollow and thin over the telephone. We make conversation. I just want to hear him laugh. He stays up way too late. He has been working out, he says, and when I see him again, he is X pounds lighter. I’m not sure. I’m just glad to see him again.

Then I wonder whether or not all of this is worth it.