2 October 2013 § Leave a comment
My notebook’s got a running countdown, a steampunk clockface without hands, counting up to 3:33 pm Sunday, October 6th, a future anniversary. A ceremony which was at one point to be small and intimate might more likely manifest a more medium-sized intimacy.
A couple of weeks ago, I stood at an old blue USPS mailbox with a wax-stamped, calligraphic envelope, as middle class cars passed by, and dull clouds passed over the sun. Posting the invitation cast my next role in relationship to its recipient. Or would, if I chose to imbue the moment with catastrophic meaning, as opposed to leaving the moment alone. It didn’t offend me, wasn’t a projection screen for my story.
Today I invited Buddy Wakefield, one of my 100% spoken word artists, to the wedding. his tour dates said he’d be in town this weekend. Blake, the Nomad body-piercing rock star, gave Ed his first ear piercing in 85 years yesterday. He’s kin, and invited.
And there are people from my life whom I’ve inevitably overlooked, ignored, filtered out, and let go. What is the connection one gains from attending a wedding? I’ve fulfilled RSVPs to all kinds of celebrations; in back yard Alaska, podunk western towns, and skipped receptions to fight with an ex-girlfriend. What stories might come from this weekend? Will the vortex of loved ones leave me bewildered and unable to accept a single congratulation, because someone else felt left out, unrequited for the bundle of time or energy they once pointed at me?
It’s taken all day to write four paragraphs. Buddy said he can’t make the wedding. That’s okay, but I’ll still secretly hope he shows up at the last minute. For now, I’m going to work on a philosophical treatise on the joke of individuality, in my sleep.
Three days. Still counting.