113 Miles From Home

I feel like I’m on a mad dash home. I can’t eat, I can’t do anything but listen to Melissa Etheridge and Joan Osborne and dream of getting my hands dirty in my garden. As I pass through this familiar pass between Livingston and Bozeman, I can’t help but wonder what the future is holding for me in it’s gentle hand.

I have been thinking so much today. I haven’t been able to do anything but think. My mind is reeling. My body is tense. I haven’t had enough coffee. I talked to “her” on the phone last night, and I think that even left me feeling vulnerable, since she could hear in my voice how unhappy I sounded and sent me a long email conveying that.

How many times do I have to go over this in my head before I feel the freedom I long for?

Nights pass, alone, even though I have not been alone in my bed.

Mentally I’ve been very alone.

I don’t think hubby and I have said more than 3 words today unless it involved the children. I have nothing to say, and I instinctively know he is picking up on my emotions and that is throwing him into silent denial mode.

I know we will go home, unpack what we need tonight, fix some dinner, or more likely hit McDonalds, and he will do what he wants and I will take solace in the garden.

I feel that at least this trip has allowed me some further mental clarity around my life. I don’t feel bound by what he wants at this point. I have decided it might be OK to feed the kids cereal for dinner for awhile. I’m tired of running home after work and cooking a full on dinner. Grilled cheese and soup is perfectly acceptable for awhile, and besides, it really doesn’t matter what I cook, the kids will eat 2 bites and be done anyway.

I’m going to make the rest of the summer about taking care of me. I need to do this badly or I will not be able to take care of my kids, to take care of my life. I have to get strong in body and mind before I jump of the proverbial cliff.

I have nothing to do in this truck right now besides write, hence me writing about 40 gazillion emails, too many blog posts and a few story’s.

I’m taking solace today in Joan Osborne’s cover of “Brokedown Palace”.

“fare you well my honey
fare you well my only true one
all the birds that were singing
are flown except you alone
going to leave this Brokedown palace
on my hands and my knees
I will roll roll roll
make myself a bed by the water side
in my time in my time
i will roll roll roll
in a bed
in a bed
by the water side
i will lay my head
listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul
river gonna take me
sing me sweet and sleepy
sing me sweet and sleepy
all the way back home

it’s a far gone lullaby
sang many years ago
mama mama many worlds have come since I first left home
going home, going home by the water side
i will rest my bones
listen to the river sing sweet songs
to rock my soul...

going to plant a weeping willow
on the banks the clean edge
it will grow grow grow
sing a lullaby beside the water
lovers come and row the river...row row row
fare you well ...fare you well...
i love you more than words can tell
listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul”.

I imagine her singing this about herself. About her love to herself. About healing herself.

I saw Joan Osborne sing once at the Fillmore in San Francisco with my friend Tony. We got in, and pushed our way up to the front of that very small venue, and rocked out. I had liked her before, but after that, I adored her. She is one of the mainstay’s in my music library.

I’m dirty, grubby, smelly and sweaty. I need a shower, and I’m almost home.



Peace,

OC