Ebbs and Flows, Folks.
I’m ok. Wait…
I am okay. Monkey is okay. Kind of. I took the old man into the vet thinking he was pretty much on his last legs, which he is, got him his shot of cortisone for his asthma, some pills and subcutaneous fluids and he seems okay. He’s not leaving yet. Which is good. I think it's enough time (one month) since Lynn passed that I can get back to sort of expecting Monkey to go soon, naturally. Whether or not she had anything to do with keeping him around for now I don’t know. Slipping into the mystical. Looking for connection. Seeing signs. Happens.
It’s been hard looking at pics or videos of her. Just too painful. It’s not immediately painful but then a geyser of emotion comes gurgling out of my guts and heart. I watched a selfie vid of her singing along with Kool and the Gang’s ‘Get Down On It’ that she shot in my living room and I got ten seconds in and lost my shit. Still can get the song out of my head.
Her friend Jim and I were finally able to bring her car back to where she leased it from. It was so sad sitting out there in front of my house. It was the last piece of practical business that needed to be done. The day before we took it down I went out to start it and it was dead. Did she not want me to take it away? Is she worried I will forget her? Signs.
Before I took Monkey in he was acting weird and sick and hanging out in the room that Lynn was dying in. He never hangs out in there. Is he dying too now or is she telling me to remember? I’m not going to forget. I will look at the pictures. I will sing the songs. I will watch the videos. I will read the writing. Eventually. I am lost in the memory of her most of the time because it’s not a memory, or memories. It's genetic now. It’s part of my blood and mind and heart and spirit.
I closed the door to that room. Some of her stuff is in there. That’s where she fought the monster. I go in. I sit sometimes.
I figured out how to jump a hybrid and we took the car down South to Cerritos. It didn’t die because of mystical shit. It died because it’s a hybrid and wasn’t self-charging for a month. Yeah, that’s it.
We got it to the lot, dropped it off and then me and Jim masked up and he got in my car. As we set out to drive back to LA ,I rolled down the window and the speakers on the car lot were blaring ‘Get Down On It.’ Yes. It is true.
I get it. I will not forget you, Lynn. Especially if you keep hanging around.
Today I talk to the singular Joe Pantoliano. Joey Pants. Great actor. Great guy. Jersey. Thursday, first I talk to J-L Cauvin about his Trump impression and then to comedian Amber Preston about her comedy and life and stuff. Midwest.
Enjoy!
Love,
Maron