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    Tuesday, January 15, 2013

    By Helene “Freebird” Gresser

    I am restless. It’s sleeting out, and 11:21 p.m., and I want to go somewhere. I am listening to ole-timey honky-tonk banjo music on my radio, smoking like I cannot get enough, and I lost twenty bucks out of my jeans pocket on my way to the stupid Family Dollar store. I  also lost my umbrella in a bar last week, so if I get the hell out of my newly rented bedroom, I will have to face the sleet on the way to – somewhere. Where do I go? In my new neighborhood in this outer borough, the local bars are sparsely populated and close early. So I’d have to get on the damn subway and go ---where? The bars I have frequented lately have all been with the dude I’ve been hanging out with – and since I am trying to back off from trying so hard to be his “girlfriend”, the thought of going to these places solo just makes me feel more restless.
    I have been flying solo for many years now, and usually do it peacefully and revel in my freedom. Having feelings for someone who wants no strings is testing my emotional “triggers,” as my therapy has taught me. Suddenly I want company, and dislike being alone in my bed, and am starting to hate myself for becoming attached to the unattachable. Over and over and over again, I repeat this slow torture, and I vow each time that everything I have learned about my fears of abandonment and feelings of inadequacy and anxiety will eventually become rational thought and action. But here I sit, disgusted, fully dressed and made-up, ready to have fun, and cannot pick up the phone to call the one person I want to be closest to right now. Last weekend I promised myself, and told him of my promise, that I will leave it up to him when he wants to see me. He needs his freedom, and I don’t want to ruin us with my need for MORE.
    I have the overhead light on as well as my bedside lamp. I feel too vulnerable in the dim light, though I usually despise overhead lighting. I need the brightness right now. I need to be out of here, somewhere, just anywhere but here.
    I feel alive and free and strong when I am onstage. My honesty is not muzzled when I have a microphone in hand. I suppose that is why I write, too. I am bottled and buzzing and need to be uncapped to fly free. I suppose that is the way I have to view my “relationship.” Let’s just run free, unmuzzled, uncapped, undefined, with lots of space to wander and wonder and play. 
    Why do I understand that as a rational woman, but in these late hours, need something else? What else can I do but live and let live?
    I’ll grab my pillow and hug it hard. The night will become dawn. I will work, and write, and be free. But it’s a cold, dark rain right now, and I am contemplating my boots. I’ll put my baseball cap on to keep off the worst of the drizzle. I will stick a few bills in my pocket, my Metrocard, and buy another pack of cigarettes as I walk towards something. Anywhere but here.


  2. 3 comments:

    1. I love your writing. You often capture the inherent insanity of the human condition, and you express it honestly. It feels like a movie because I can see the wet dark streets and your cigarette.

    2. Spleen said...

      Mindy, thank you for being so supportive and encouraging!

    3. Anonymous said...

      I know that feeling, having to get out, anywhere. I enjoyed reading this too.

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