The other day, I hear a banging going on next door from the place that used to be Sean and Tanyas. Since they moved out, a young family of three with a small son move in. I don’t interact with them much but as we share a garage that my living room sits over I often see and hear them late in the night often with the boy who is sometimes very upset . I can’t help but imagine something nefarious happening and I hope that if it is that the boy has the protection he needs.
Last night, an ambulance and a firetrucks bright lights illuminate the front of our unit as responders are instructed to go around the corner to that young families unit. We peer down from the balcony along with the ma across the lot from us to see what’s happening.
After the ambulance and firetruck depart a small crowd forms under my bedroom window on their phones or crying in Spanish.
It’s not until today until we learn from Matt who is right next to them that the husband died. Matt tells us the guy offered him some Coke a few nights before but they said no and he thinks that’s what caused the overdose.. word on the street is there’s a big increase of deaths from that stuff being laced with fentanyl.
The wife pack up and left sometime in the early morning. Matt is torn up about it as he often interacted with the guy.
Strange happenings in these parts.
Thanks for nothing, matey.
You asked me once, why we never went out?
I told you I didn’t know, when actually, I did. We never went out because you never asked…because we met in February and you left in June. I thought you’d come back for me. .. I mean if it was meant to be. I silently hoped it, never acknowledged it. The first time I laid eyes on you, I thought, “Is that my husband?” … I’m not even sure I told anyone that. We became friends and nothing more. What’s funny is I went on to date someone, and I didn’t tell you. When you found out, you asked me why I didn’t tell you? You were genuinely happy and curious. I think it was a subconscious decision. Really didn’t think that until you asked. What’s funny is, several people through the years thought we would end up together. When they brought it up, I vehemently denied the possibility. When you got married, my heart sank when I received the news from our mutual friend. When your wife emailed a picture of you two on the beach, prominently displaying her ring, from your account with no accompanying words, I think the idea of us being a couple had crossed her mind, as well. After you got divorced, I thought, what if we just decided on our 40s to be together. I met you at 22. You visited me a couple of times. Our relationship has remained platonic. One time, we went to eat and you sat next to me, and laid your head on my shoulder. I didn’t know what to do, nor what to say. I just sat there in quiet shock and wonderment. It was a little brief, but prolonged at the same time. I know that makes no sense. I mean it was long enough for me to think about it, but short enough for me to do absolutely nothing about it. I’m not even sure I love you. I feel as though I could be all you need a wife to be. Loving, caring, supportive, gentle, your safe place. I think I’ve stifled any emotion for you from the start, because I never wanted to misstep. I was waiting for you, the man to “find” me… then you find someone else, and sometimes, I hear and see things that would suggest you’re not over that. I could be wrong. Anyway, I just wanted to write this out. I’ve always loved you as my friend. I’ve always wanted you to succeed and know I’m in your corner. Now as I close this, I feel like I can love you, romantically.
Sometimes you put in a lot of effort. Other times you really don’t. If you only put in half of the effort, then only half of the effort I put in, is what you’ll receive from me. And weren’t you the one who was saying “We need to communicate with each other a bit more?”. You were. Communication is key. Yet sometimes you don’t even bother contacting me for weeks. You can’t love me as much as you tell me you do. I feel like I’m just the rebound. If you really don’t want me, no-one is forcing you to stay with me. I can always be with someone else. Maybe you like the thought of me with a different man. I’m not sure. You’re very confusing. Either be with me or don’t. It isn’t that complicated.
I am very thankful to have you around, and a part of me will always wish that you’d love me as much as I love you.
I moved on and forward but sometimes I wonder if I was even a blip on your radar. It felt real and special, but it was quickly and swiftly lost. Years later, it still gives me pause, the memories. I wish I could say I wish you well, but there’s a lot you left unraveled and undone. It’s not fair people can leave you high and dry, with little care for your emotions, but I’ve realized that not everything is made to make sense.
Hope is such a gift to me. I wish I didn’t hope. I wish I didn’t have it even in the face of the disturbing things going on in my life. I fear hope at times. It grabs me by my soul and gives me dreams of things I long for. It torments and twists my soul in an excruciating manner as in a game of cat and mouse. I am the one it tortures and I am the one it kills. I wish I would stop hoping. I wish I would stop dreaming. I wish I would stop wanting. I hope so much. I dream so much. I want so much. But 1 or none ever in my reach. Even in the midst of my hope I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Reason for how will things change when I can’t change how things are or can’t change how someone treats me when intent on destroying me for unjustifiable emotions on their part. Doubt for how will things get better were I am even in the face of me trying to be strong. My dream created my prayer, the utterance of my prayers manifested my dream, my dream after so many years came true and my choice of that dream led me here because I had hope and still have hope. But what good is hope when I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Hope is a hurtful emotion. A hurtful emotion indeed to me. How many times have I hoped only to have myself or some other person dash it. I fail myself in my hope. Others kill me for my hope. I don’t think there ever was a time when I truly enjoyed the fulfillment of my hope to it’s fullest. Suffer I do for hope. Suffer I do for the light inside me. Difficult it is to bear the presence of those bitter in their own lives, bitter to such an extent the only way they see is to hurt me, to dash my hope. How can I give up my gift. How can I give up hope. For to give up on hope is to give up on my humanity. How can I give up my light. A light which seemingly attracts darkness. A light which seemingly turns on itself. Destroying itself. Eating itself alive. How can I be without the other. Hope, hope is a gift. My gift. And seemingly my end.
But thanks for telling me.
You know T, you are kinda sexy in a rebellious, skateboarding, Millenial type of way. I watch your content on Youtube every day and, I can tell that you’re a closet perfectionist because you speak so crisply. I’ve never been a Youtube creator so I’m sure there is another level of quality that your videos must meet, hence the crispy speak.
I’ve watched several of your videos reporting on the workforce and about workers leaving their jobs and the need for qualified workers, and so on and so on. I’ve come to realize that we are all being gaslit by the mainstream media. I’m looking for work right now and it’s tough out there. I’m applying for positions that I’m over-qualified for and I don’t have potential employers blowing up my phone wanting to give me a job. Maybe it’s an “East Coast thing” but out here in California, jobs are not very plentiful. So, dude, can you please cut the hype and mild hysteria about the economy collapsing and the lack of qualified workers because it’s not that way out here. Okay? Wish me luck TP.