- Posh Bucksaw.
The way I feel about my boyfriend is the reason that if I find two paperclips stuck together, I either put them in the same stack, or back in the box.
“Wild west, west coast, these are the girls I love the most.”
Drea stopped all the squealing.
Her voice rang. “Hey girls?” We stopped tugging our tops and angling our faces at the mirror.
“Think about it,” she said. “We’re all happy.”
And one by one we all paused, retraced the steps of the last little while, and smiled a private smile.
She was right, and bless her forever for making us stop and bookmark this glorious summer.
We ARE all happy. And we’ve all got a toe in each others’ hot tub. None of us got where we are without each other. We all invested and we all paid off, and while it’s rarely that neat and tidy, that’s exactly what happens when women are each other’s friends.
Happy Birthday Lacey.
I hope you know that year after messy, unexpected year, your girls will always be your girls.
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the Paleozoic time,
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,
Or skittered with many a caudal flip
Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,
My heart was rife with the joy of life,
For I loved you even then.
Mindless we lived and mindless we loved
And mindless at last we died;
And deep in the rift of the Caradoc drift
We slumbered side by side.
The world turned on in the lathe of time,
The hot lands heaved amain,
Till we caught our breath from the womb of death
And crept into light again.
We were amphibians, scaled and tailed,
And drab as a dead man’s hand;
We coiled at ease ‘neath the dripping trees
Or trailed through the mud and sand.
Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet,
Writing a language dumb,
With never a spark in the empty dark
To hint at a life to come.
Yet happy we lived and happy we loved,
And happy we died once more;
Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold
Of a Neocomian shore.
The eons came and the eons fled
And the sleep that wrapped us fast
Was riven away in a newer day
And the night of death was past.
Then light and swift through the jungle trees
We swung in our airy flights,
Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms
In the hush of the moonless nights;
And, oh! what beautiful years were there
When our hearts clung each to each;
When life was filled and our senses thrilled
In the first faint dawn of speech.
Thus life by life and love by love
We passed through the cycles strange,
And breath by breath and death by death
We followed the chain of change.
Till there came a time in the law of life
When over the nursing side
The shadows broke and the soul awoke
In a strange, dim dream of God.
I was thewed like an Auroch bull
And tusked like the great cave bear;
And you, my sweet, from head to feet
Were gowned in your glorious hair.
Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave,
When the night fell o’er the plain
And the moon hung red o’er the river bed
We mumbled the bones of the slain.
I flaked a flint to a cutting edge
And shaped it with brutish craft;
I broke a shank from the woodland lank
And fitted it, head and haft;
Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn
Where the mammoth came to drink;
Through the brawn and bone I drove the stone
And slew him upon the brink.
Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes,
Loud answered our kith and kin;
From west to east to the crimson feast
The clan came tramping in.
O’er joint and gristle and padded bone
We fought and clawed and tore,
And cheek by jowl with many a growl
We talked the marvel o’er.
I carved the fight on a reindeer bone
With rude and hairy hand;
I pictured his fall on the cavern wall
That men might understand.
For we lived by blood and the right of might
Ere human laws were drawn,
And the age of sin did not begin
Till our brutal tush were gone.
And that was a million years ago
In a time that no man knows;
Yet here tonight in the mellow light
We sit at Delmonico’s.
Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,
Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new,
Your soul untried, and yet –
Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay
And the scarp of the Purbeck flags;
We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones
And deep in the Coralline crags;
Our love is old, our lives are old,
And death shall come amain;
Should it come today, what man may say
We shall not live again?
God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds
And furnished them wings to fly;
He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn,
And I know that it shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the graves
Where the crook-bone men make war
And the oxwain creaks o’er the buried caves
Where the mummied mammoths are.
Then as we linger at luncheon here
O’er many a dainty dish,
Let us drink anew to the time when you
Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
– Langdon Smith
I was about five years old, and I was laying in my bed, thinking about and trying to imagine what my life would be like as a grownup. My parents had gone out that night, leaving us with an over-zealous babysitter who was studying for her degree in child psychology. She was as annoying as fuck. She came with all these prepared games, to challenge and engage us. My brother Jesse and I weren’t prepared for this sort of thing. We’d spent our five and seven years entertaining ourselves and her scavenger hunt list felt …. invasive. In hindsight she was probably really wonderful. And underpaid.
Anyway, I remember my mother saying something about that night being a “grownup thing,” and that fired up my imagination. (My imagination being a lot like an oven with it’s pilot light out, in a word COMBUSTIBLE.) I dreamed a dream.
In my dream, I was there in a bed with a man. My face was the face of a grownup but I apparently coudn’t picture myself taller so I had the stature of a midget. (This is where we see foreshadowing, as I am a woman of dimuntive dimensions.) The man and I were looking at each other, we were eating ice cream and laughing.
Eating ice cream in bed, and laughing, I think this was the closest I could picture at the age of five, of sex. Think about it for bit. It’s pretty darn accurate. He had light-ish, thick hair, and a very square jaw. His eyes were closed in laughter, and his hands felt warm.
As I grew up, I wondered about that man. Now, I’ve always been a very practical girl. Dreams were the result of things you saw and weren’t immediatly sure how to file away. Your brain is a filing cabinet, and dreams are the file that is labeled ‘not sure how to file, need second look.’ So when I wondered, I just assumed that I’d seen a man, an adult man, and something about his face engaged me, something he’d done had made him stand for something in my memory, perhaps he’d laughed easily? It was so clear in my mind because the dream reoccured.
And when his face flashed into my mind I always smiled indulgently, because I thought of him as some nice man who’d done something to make my little girl self think of him as perfect. A symbol. A masthead for my ship of dreams. A nice idea. But of course, nothing more, because nobody is made for anybody. There are no soulmates. There are only independantly evolved humans who choose to make a life with another independant human being. I resented the idea that THAT is unromantic. And despite all, I think the idea of deciding every day to be with someone is pretty fucking sweet. I have it figured out, relationships. I navigated them like a pro.
So …………. you can understand my confusion when I walked into work one day and was suddenly face to face with the face I’d dreamed. It was like finding a unicorn in your kitchen.
I know I’m way behind here. I’ve gotta tell you about Denmark (amazing), Lacey’s birthday party (drunken and wonderful), the coffin in the attic (mostly empty), and meeting Ruan in London (yay!).
But most of all, I have to tell you about the man I love. The man that just owns me, wrecks me and utterly delights me. (And who THANK GOODNESS loves me back.) He’s no stranger to my loyal readers, except for the fact that I never did really tell you his name or show you his picture. It’s that same one, the only one.
We’ll get to that.
It’s an insane story, and coming from me that means a lot. Bear with me because it’s also an insanely looooooooooong story. It started when I was five, it covers such topics as in what order do you put employee mailboxes? can you expect to win when you’ve broken all the rules? and remind me again what are the circumstances under which the anti-Christ will be born?
More so than ever, I’m so excited to tell you everything.