Scribbler's Cafe

Calculated Confessions

I’m back at Absinthe. I can hear the cook chopping the mushrooms for my penne with crème sauce. I came alone – my little heart broken once again, once again, once again. Even small pieces shatter easily these days.

I’ve been thinking of pod casting my incomplete novel. It’d make for a very enthralling “episode by episode” cast and I could built up Ms. SlickSxyCool with an accompanying site of quotes and stills. Plus, once I reach the end of the material I have completely already, there’s accountability of audience to finish the dang thing. I’d kill to have some earlier chapter with me here and now so that I may pour and ponder and imagine all that could be and all that was.

And all that was.

“Shi” and I are different now. I feel as though I’ve forgotten parts of her. I’ve lost touch with the compelling reasons for her madness.

When I think of my unfinished novel – when I contemplate retracing my steps and resuming the downward spiral of words – I am seized with a mild terror. A vast undone lays before me, naked, bare chested, vulnerable and weak. “Shi” simpers – desiring fulfillment. I recoil.

Tragically, I am repulsed by the “Shi” I was then. That death was unbecoming to the vast intellectual I pretend to be, a truly liberated woman. Freedom comes in love and so many steps I danced away from that fruitful core.

I do believe. I do believe - my dear friends, sisters - in the God of love.

This online journal has become a tricky minefield to navigate. My dearly beloved reads (hello, first love of mine) so I dare not publish anything that may tear at his heart any more than I have already in real time and space. My sweet (pretending) unassuming parental figures also drop by occasionally, so I clean up the language, dampen the sadness and extinguish the sex.

Yet this space has become important to me, so I maintain it. There are souls I have connected with here – for whatever small and thankful reasons – Alicia, Brett, Carol, Marcus. These are people I count as friends even though I know them only through unsubstantiated electronic connections. I can’t be 100% sure of their existence, but I have my hunches. There is more that I want to write here, to explore, to divulge to converse – but I can’t.

I simply can’t.

-----More from Absinthe to be typed soon----

posted by Scribbler @ Saturday, December 03, 2005