My name is Dave and I'm funky, when it comes to love you know I'm spunky. My name is Dave and I'm punky, when I reveal my heart you know that it is clunky. My name is Dave and I'm chunky, when it comes to holiday spirit you know I'm a junkie... I may have a bad case of Girl Power having just watched a special on the Spice Girls. Zigazag. So I was on the phone the other night talking to a friend who was watching the Garfield Christmas Special. I told her I didn't like Garfield and upon self analysis and reflection I figured out that was based on a deep seeded fear that I'm on the fast track to becoming Jon Arbuckle. I'm just a slobbering dog away. She didn't disagree.
Our conversation was difficult and I didn't even get around to telling her that if there's been a more confusing twelve month period in the history of the world, I for one would like to know when it was. I would not have believed you if you would have told me one year ago that I would one night be sitting in Chaamps in downtown Minneapolis with one eye peeled on the Vikings/Packer's game and the other keeping a look out for our least most favorite Target analyst and that relationship would ever get to the stage where I both desperately wanted to see and desperately hoped she would not be there. The person whose group I was "with" told her friends to watch what they said to me for I might write about it. It was probably a fair warning. You got to write about what you know and when what you know is just beyond your grasp you sometimes just write anyway.
And who would have thunk that days later I would be wandering the Minneapolis skyways prior to a couple of business meetings searching the crowd for the same missing face and not knowing what I'd do if I ran across her actual presence which by its absence still plays a role in my life. I don't need no permit to tell me that some plans permanently fizzle but one still must proceed. She works in a tall building near the one I was required to be at. I didn't jump, resisting the temptation of the long fall, tempting as it was to think about. I guess in my mind I already have made the jump several times from harmony to disappointment, from sorrow to ambivalence, from self preservation to self pity, from a broken spirit to a mind popping experience in Japan, from absolute chaos to the best thing I've ever written that I cannot share. Events sure don't seem to connect much these days.
And I would have given you my house and a big bear hug if you would have bet me a year ago that one chilly December evening I would be sitting at a table across from Mother Meek, who would be giving me her life story along with some wise advice and that her daughter would be next to me, sore neck and all, smiling and seemingly touched by my company. If nothing else the past year has shown me that confusion is at least never boring.
I have always been of the view that few of life's relationships leave you weaker for the time together. I truly believe most of the time you are better for the experience, the sharing of knowledge, feeling and memory that comes with any relationship. I can only think of two exceptions to this rule. There was a person who came along awhile back that truly made me feel things and see life in an altogether different way while at the same time making me feel comfortable with the familiar and brand new at the same time. It was quite the gift she offered to me and left me regretting. The loss sent me reeling and in ways I have never felt the same way since.
Now for the second time I'm feeling a bit worn from the wear, weaker for the sharing. A co-worker told me I've been walking around looking as if I had just lost my best friend. She was close but completely wrong at the same time. I'm more than the fancy ties I often wear. She followed up by echoing what I've heard many times before, that I'm difficult to read. What I lost has been teetering on the edge for quite a while now. It's damn confusing when you lose your muse. What is most confusing isn't the daily events that contradict and often don't seem to either add up or mean very much. What is befuddling is not having the tools to sort it out and make it make sense for myself. The feeling of being disconnected comes from being unable to distinguish between a thought and a feeling and wondering if it really matters to know.
Regular readers of this column may have noticed common themes running present here for the past few months. I apologize for that has by no means been deliberate. Seems like every time I start off writing the circle becomes complete and I end up right back where I hoped avoiding to begin with. Though I wouldn't have believed it I guess I got used to having another's voice there when I needed it. Her's was helpful by walking with the wounded muse, to share the day's events with and who's own life's stories changed from amusing to admirable inside of me. Her insight didn't always make it make sense but it made it mean something. Sometimes you just have to let someone into your heart and sometimes someone already is there. The last event from this past week: a person without any noticeable agenda told me she passed my Japan article around her office and it was enjoyed so much she had to make multiple copies for her co-workers. Maybe the muse isn't as far away as it feels. And maybe returning to it will be enough.