Open Letter to Marc Maron (Day 10)
….I think maybe that it might not even be because you or I are particularly broken—though we are broken in a particular way. For all of us, maybe, there’s some lesson we need to learn over and over again and maybe we are still learning even as we transition to the next life. What do you think?
I don’t know what to write next. And really what I want to do most right now is make a cup of decaf, pop some popcorn, and then lose myself in a movie. Today I read most of Michael Cunningham’s Land’s End: A Walk in Provincetown. And I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. And I washed dishes. And I figured out that if I didn’t do laundry tomorrow—a chore I’ve put off now for a couple of weeks—I would have absolutely no clean clothes to take to New York next week. I also texted my sister a bunch of times to wish her happy birthday. I also put a bunch of silly things on Facebook to make my sister laugh. I fixed my shredder and did some filing and picked all the clothes off the floor and hung them in my closet though I’ve yet to do anything about changing the flickering lightbulb in said closet.
I didn’t call my stepmother. I didn’t figure out what to wear to my father’s memorial service next weekend. I didn’t shower. I didn’t count calories (Greek fries and chicken wings from my favorite take-out place were on the menu), I didn’t exercise (most likely cause I’m ashamed that I’m so out of shape that a 30 minute walking tape sets me panting). I didn’t comb my hair though that could probably be inferred by the whole not showering. I didn’t do one single thing that I didn’t want to do with my whole heart.
In other words, I had a very happy day.
The other week you told Melanie Lynskey, “I don’t know if I’m happier but I’m older.” Why are you afraid to be happy? And why do I feel like I have to justify having the exact kind of day that makes me happy.
To be continued…