Sunday Morning

January 18, 2009 § 1 Comment

I’m trying to write and Philip is swearing at the TV again, this time at David Brooks for saying Bush’s freezing out of those who didn’t agree with him, “my lifestyle is better than your lifestyle” was what the ‘60’s were all about. “No, you cocksucker,” my sweetie said, “that’s what people who have money are all about.” Philip was hurt by what I wrote last week so now I have to describe his good qualities, like how much he hates Republicans, and how pretty his eyelashes are. I’ve have learned a lot from him about what it was like not to be a hippie in high school, and how to access one’s inner Rahm Emmanuel. But I also have to object to his assertion that wanting TV and music on at all times is recognizing one’s connectedness to humanity. This is how I connect to humanity, and I need silence to do it.

Which I have now because he’s in the bathroom and the TV is cavorting on mute. I fell in the bathroom last weekend when I was drunk, not hurting myself (God protects drunks and fools has always worked for me) and coming out of my stupor to feel him lightly slap my face—he couldn’t carry me to bed, alas, no one has done that since I was 5—and it was kind of a faux S/M moment, part of that tough love I seem to want, but once I get it feel energized to turn the toughie into a softie so we can play, childhood rough and tumble, tease and silliness until I explode in toddler giggles. It can never happen enough for me though both Philip and Charles are extremely good at being silly. I miss my husband, his unpredictable flights of fancy. Maybe I’m perverse, but I can’t help feeling happy for Diane whom he’s ‘in love’ with now—what a pleasure for her to receive that overflowing romantic spirit. I always felt that I got too much of the good stuff from Charles, that not enough other people experienced him at his best. Mostly I was sorry his kids didn’t. But the grandchildren are getting a good dose, and they need it.


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