It's times like these where I miss my writing table. You know I sold it cuz I didn’t see having enough room in my storage for it. You know to take that trip, the one I’ve been planning for 2 years now. The memory just popped up on Facebook, “Jacob it’s been 2 years since this photo”.
It's times like this where I miss my writing table. You know I bought it when I got back from my last trip, the one I took 4 years ago or maybe it was 5. I came home and was going to be a writer, I looked for places to move to on the beach, needing that beach life. You know that slow easy going life, watching sunsets every evening and listening to the waves crash on the shore. When I lived in Morro Bay I could hear the waves at night, I was about a ½ mile from the shore.
It’s nights like these where I miss my writing table, where I miss smoking and drinking and laying all my thoughts to rest, all my aspirations to sleep, all my goals to time out, all my run on sentences dancing in the glory of never ending moments. I mean that’s all a sentence is you know, a moment, a never-ending moment till that punctuation arrives and then it’s time to stop and start another thought. My sister says I love run on sentences and I say I write in prose even though I know not the true definition of it I write in it. I think it’s a form of thought or poetry.
You know I used to be a poet, long winded limericks flying off my tongue, constantly repeating the words, the rhymes. Silk and lace, may I chase, have a taste, of your sweet lips… on and on I would drone, sleepless nights of babble and I wasn’t even on dope yet. I miss those nights not, those drug filled, feeble suicidal ways that got me nowhere but deeper into a pain I knew not ever existed till I found it and understood why my dad abandoned me and my mother drank her why through all my informative years.
But I digress, this is not about what was, this is not why I miss my writing table, the one that sat in the corner of my living room, staring out into the emptiness of my apartment. It would have done me justice at 3am, I am certain of this. I haven’t had 3am nights in a fit passion with pen and paper in quite some time. I’ve not had passion like that in what seems like forever, tragedy does not live upon my doorstep any longer.
You know it was the prettiest table ever seen, I’m sure someone, somewhere, has written a fairytale of it, a song people would sing as they danced around campfires. It’s rich mahogany red stain, it’s four legs and flat top. She was a beautiful desk she was, I was sad to see her go but went for a good cause she did. A cause in which might not never come to passing now and coming to terms with that has been relatively easy. Life rarely happens the way I plan it, been that way since I was a wee lad on the streets of Venice, since my parents split, since I broke my heart, since he died, since she left, since every turn I did not plan. I can adapt, we can all adapt if we choose to, we can all surrender. It’s just one little tiny flag, as small as a wooden stir stick woven though the edge of a napkin.
I don’t know what it is tonight that has me craving what is no longer here. There is something in me that is trying to get out and I am sure it would flow so beautifully if I only had that desk. I coulda turned on the leg lamp that used to sit on it which now sits by my bedside. I coulda lit some incense, maybe a candle to set a soft mood and got lost in the whimsy of such a poetic moment and then the thoughts, the feelings – all of them woulda flowed out’a me like butterflies hatching from long dormant winter cocoons.
But no, no table. So you have this, these blathering moments of an imbecile searching for words to frame the feelings that bounce around in him like a child’s ball. You have me, on my couch, laptop on lap, in my baby blue scrub pants and gray LuLuLemon shirt. You have the sad and lonely me, the one that knows there is nothing wrong at all in my life but yet these odd feelings play peekaboo in my soul. Is it falling in love that has done this, is it losing a love that has done this, is it just a funky moment that screams god’s name and for the life of me I cannot remember his name so the whatever is being force fed to the universe through the thoughts in my mind is irreconcilable to me and that is why if I only had that table I could make sense of my entire life.
Know that table is not a metaphor, nor is it an idea or be all fix all. The table is just a table, one I had no idea I was so fond of, like some other things and people alike, who are no longer in my life. Some things just bring us to where we need to be at times, some people do the same.
I see my life slipping away from me and I don’t know how to stop it from happening or slow the process. I care not to think or analyze or understand any of me or this life. I just wish to exist in each moment as they come and great each one with wonderment and excitement. Maybe all this means nothing and that is the true lesson in life, that we just exist and the key to that is to be happy right here, right now. Table or no table. Maybe sometimes we just need to vomit on life to find the room to ingest more of what it is feeding us. Maybe love is just a concept till we know unconditional love. Maybe there really is no such thing as loss cuz none of anything was ever ours to lose. Maybe we still have everything we ever touched cause it is sitting in our souls, all the good and the bad. Maybe if I just surrender a little more.
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