Crazy Moon

A full moon greeted me outside my bedroom window as I sat down to write this evening. Framed perfectly in one window pane like some milky white, glorious globe. A crazy moon rising -- shining brilliantly and casting moonshine on the ground marked by long shadows in the dark. I had a girlfriend who once worked in our local emergency room at the hospital. She swore that us mentally interesting people come out of the woodwork on such nights. My father does as well. I would hate to disappoint them and you all by saying I feel mentally well. I have to live up to my moon's namesake. My mind is busy and yet tired at the same time. It has been a busy day that felt like a week's worth of days all rolled into one.

My and Rosa's little spat we were having didn't last long.

"I just can't sleep without you," she told me over the phone tonight.

"I'm coming to pick you up," I replied, missing her deeply.

She gave me a heartwarming embrace as I pulled up in front of her house to bring her "home." I have actually had trouble sleeping without her as well -- the bed feeling empty with it just being me and Maggie. I missed the feel of Rosa's cold feet as they would brush up against mine and her soft snoring as well. That wonderfully warm spot I would occupy when she would roll over to the edge of the bed wrapping herself in my covers.

I then let Rosa read some of my writings today written down at the shopping center when we arrived home.

"Why didn't you come and get me?" She asked, as she lives very close to the shopping center, jealous I had spent time with Clara and George without her.

"I was being self centered. I thought you would disapprove of my drinking beer. I was hiding."

"I don't mind you drinking a beer," she told me. "I do mind you getting shit-faced though."

"Well, we will just see how things go. I didn't get drunk today by any means."

One of the things I most love about Rosa is her nightly routines. Women captivate me in the great efforts they go about to make themselves presentable. Rosa is not much of one to wear makeup, lipstick, or fancy clothes, but she does like to tidy herself every night. Putting on her face cream, taking a long, hot bath, and putting lotion on her hands and feet. She will escape from the shower with one of my towels wrapped tightly around her head and hair, making me smile with amusement. These routines are comforting to me and I have missed them the past few nights. Intimate little shared moments -- the mundane aspects of another's life that often go overlooked by familiarity and routine. I savor them.

I also realized tonight I have shared far too much on this blog -- allowing strangers to glimpse into my world with a candidness that I know made many wince in discomfort. Blogging is addictive. My instinct is to now hide and shy away -- to no longer write of mental illnesses or addictions, having now been saddled with those labels. I catch myself doing it to -- defining myself by my flaws, my glaring defects of character and body. I am more than the sum of my parts, though. I am kind and caring. I have an enduring strength that I don't often show. I have healthy sense of humor that I should allow out of the bag more often. I have bravely kept on ever forward and I am writing a book about it now and that there is nothing to be ashamed of how I ended up. Lives unravel for a myriad of reasons. Some more simple or complex than mine. We all struggle everyday with just making sense out of a crazy world filled untold pressures and responsibilities that are thrust upon us.