there is a comfort in the a.m., while drinking one’s coffee and trying to wake up so as to get going into the hustle and bustle of the day. Even though the sun has risen, it is still not too bright ~ lazy almost. And that sets the tone of the morning hour : laid back. easy going. relaxed.
and as you flip thru the pages in the paper, you see it. Not the article that you want to look up on line so that you can print it out for others to see who don’t read the paper anymore (which is most folks), and not the comic that you have to go online for for the digital version to print out because it’s so much easier than clipping it and going to the Xerox machine; but the ink stains on your fingertips.
it’s comforting to see the ink stains. It’s almost a nostalgia thing, but the newspaper isn’t quite that old school. But most don’t remember ever having to wash their hand after reading the paper because their paper has always been delivered in multi-colored headlines with splashy pictures to click on for the full story.
They don’t know what it is to flip to page 10 to finish the big scandal d’jour article.
and most of the time, I’m reading the newspaper well after it has fully dried and the ink won’t stain my fingertips. it is a guilty pleasure when i have the moment to read it while the ink might still be damp, before i go to work.
and that is why there is a comfort in the morning.
it’s nice to be able to relax – wake up – at a leisurely pace with my coffee and my newspaper. it makes me feel so old-school. so old-fogey.
it makes me feel like should have a rocker on my porch (neither of which i have) and be sitting on it, simply rocking in pace with the gentle breeze i imagine should be there too. Like my Grand Folks should’ve: they were of that generation. And they had a porch. But there was no rocker on the porch. And they didn’t like sitting outside on the porch. They never subscribed to Norman Rockwell.
~
There are times when I have a hard time figuring out where i belong. I didn’t grow up on computers, but they were around. They were glorified word processors – typewriters – when I was in high school. Well after i graduated college, computers, and the internet, became the norm. And it took me a long time to adapt to them.
For the longest time, I did not want one. My folks kept trying to give me one of theirs whence the upgraded, yet I kept refusing. Finally, they decided to take advantage of a major shift in my life – when i broke up with Jay after five years – to foist a computer on me in the guise of a Christmas gift. Turns out, they were right.
The Luddite needed the technology.
So when I started dating, and ended up marrying, Idiot, i was a moderate intermediate on the technical skills. And because I had already started an embrace of technology as impactful as Klimt’s The Kiss, I was able to weather the storm that was the dénouement of my marriage.
And it wasn’t only computer technology, it was cell phone, too. Mostly because there were too many times when I needed to call for help but I couldn’t because the landline had been cut off. But even with the constant connectivity of a cell phone, it was a long time before I embrace the whole texting thing. Now, I can’t live without it.
~
It’s amazing how true Maslow’s Hierarchy is true. How certain needs become first and foremost. And how others – theoretically essential - become a far secondary. I never would have thought that shelter would become a secondary need, but safety became a primary. And somehow, shelter and food became secondary. All along the lines of Maslow’s theories.
But I never thought I’d be able to look back and dissect a psychological tenet.
~
I have inks stains on my fingertips. I’m on my second cup of coffee for the morning, and as I flip the page in the newspaper, I notice the ink stains it leaves on my fingertips.
And it leaves me very comforted.
I know I’ll jump up in a heartbeat to go to the computer so that I can post the story i just read on Facebook. Or that I can go and print the comic that made me chuckle so that I can share it with my less-than-well-read-colleagues.
But I have the ink stain.
I read the paper.
I feel like I need to invoke Nathaniel West, but I’m not sure how many people would even know who that is.
But as much as I digress about the nostalgia of the printed word, I probably should actually start writing about The Idiot. (And no, this will not be a book report on Dostoevsky’s masterpiece.)
~~~
I know that writing it out should/will be cathartic. But I feel cathartic everytime I think about him laying in a ditch – or on the railroad tracks (he always like to pick up a bottle and meander the ghetto parts of town).
And I feel hopeful – and wishful – that I do get accosted by a summoner. Because that would mean that I was right: that his drunk and druggardly ass never changed the provisions in his work insurance. That I set up. After we had been married for over a year. Because he was too drunk and lazy (and stoned, I found out later) to actually do it.
I have to pause right here and make a note that I don’t want you, the reader, to get the impression that I would ever wish any kind of harm to come over Idiot. (But, damnit, it would definitely be a small windfall that I earned.!)
I have a firm belief that, eventually, Karma will catch up to him and I’ll be safe ~ finally!!!
[I almost feel like I need to write: Well, it all began . . . . . . here]
So I will.
It all began . . . .
I don’t remember the exact night. Only that I was out with Buddy, my boyfriend at the time. And Idiot walked into the beer garden. It was a Friday or Saturday ~ there was band.
It wasn’t the first time I had seen him. And I think we had been introduced previously. But Buddy invited him to join our table, and I do remember feeling happy and excited about that. There was a definite chemistry. A definite spark there.
And Taby was sitting with me & Buddy. And, unbeknownst to me at the time, there was a spark there, too.
I think it was the second time that I saw Idiot while out with Buddy that he truly captured my attention. He started weaving this tale of how he and a female friend were going to marry because of one of those ‘When we’re xx yrs, and there’s no one else . . . .’ type sagas.
Sad thing. I actually though he loved her and was engaged to her and was going to marry her. In retrospect, it was one of his grandiose romanticized dreams.
But it still made me fall. Hook. Line. And Sinker.
Buddy and I had the most perfect, romantic getaway weekend in the southern part of the state, visiting wineries. But all I could think about was getting back and would I see Idiot?? I think he wanted to get back and see Taby.
After that weekend, Buddy and I drifted/parted ways. THANK GAWD he’s a good guy, because he has always been, the way I think about him, a very good, close friend.
I still remember very fondly - it was the near the end of August. And a beautiful fall in the Mid-West. And that October, when I went to Hershey, PA for a dog grooming convention, I pined for Idiot like an Idiot. Getting back earlier than I had expected. Knocked on his door. His window. Now answer. Only to find that he had been there, only passed out. drunk. on his floor.
And yet I continued on, thinking that was nothing.
: He overdid it. He didn’t realize I might be back earlier.
Damn, I was a fool!!
I really need to rein this story in, and make it a story about me. How I got sucked and spit out, landed on my feet and never turned back to wallow in the comfortable nostalgia. Because it’s not a story about Idiot – thou he will dominate the storyline. It should be a story about how I thought I was good and straight-headed when I met him, but I wasn’t. And it was way too easy for him to do a control
