I used to see the world with clear defined lines -- in high definition claritiy that Texas Instruments would be proud of -- 1080p clarity, the sort of clarity where you could see the slightest blemish on an actor's face....

I find, however, the world is much clearer the less attention you pay to the finer details.  The trees, the forest, the road -- the general picture -- it's all what you make of it, but it is really nothing more than that.  The chronology of our life, when and who we shared certain of our life's experiences with -- a hodgepodge of places and events and people -- connected by dates and seasons of time....

I have learned to cut away that time in my mind -- mix and match the events, places and times with the right people in a way which makes more since to me.  Wasted periods of my life suddenly become so much more meaningful -- priceless....

Those potentially romantic walks along the beach, when I was longing for the woman I'm with now -- in my mind, I walked those walks with her.....

Some days you just know are going to be great, like when an aardvark bites you in the ass and you discover the recipe for everlasting bubblegum that never loses its bubbleliciousness....

On that note, I wouldn't trade places with road kill, no matter how pretty the colors match once the carcass has been run over several dozen times and its internals have been flattened all over the pavement....

No, really.  Some days are just meant to be great.  The aardvark is the key.  The ass is the portal.  Teeth, the conductor.

I am too tired to move, too wired to sleep.  About the only thing I CAN do is blog, other than keep the wife awake all night.  (Given the fact I'm not exactly lying right next to her at the moment, there isn't anything "fun" I could do with her right now besides pester her with your typically weird middle-of-the-night disconnectedies.....)

Before I zonk.... before my brain gives out to mush and my mnemonic network ceases to fire coherently with disseminating thought patterns.... I just wanted to wish the world a pleasant good night.

The world has been good to me this day.  This day, in which I woke up with a pseudo hangover from staring at a computer screen late into the night and arising much too early the morning thereafter.... only to find myself coasting to work at an even keel, feeling the world at ease, on lightly traveled roads on a sleepy Saturday morning, staring into the mirror into a pair of hypnotic flashing bluish colored lights atop the aft vehicle nearest me.  With several hundred yards' separation, I eased my chair back and glided down the roadway, inviting the lights' pursuit.  They lagged behind at first, so I accelerated slightly and drifted over and back again, and then again.  After about another mile, the lights drew closer to me, and I gave into their demands.

I spent the next half-score hours being berated for my incompetence as a human being, as an organic life form, as an organism, as a molecule.... completely solidifying my theory that humanity will not survive another generation of the sort of ramped stupidity which currently serves as the bulk of its rank and file....

But you know what????  It completely doesn't matter.

I am married to the absolute most amazing, brilliant, thoughtful, independently willful, and soulfully beautiful woman on the face of the earth.  And nothing could detract from the importance of that in my life right now.  Or ever.

I know I write about it ad nauseum, but do I really ever take the time to CELEBRATE it?  Particularly after going so many years of constant longing and barely hidden misery.

I used to have to travel all over the globe trying to find something "romantic" to do with my wife, trying to gloss over the monotony and obvious non-existent chemistry.  Everything hinged on "creating" moments... because nothing was natural.  Pictures had to be carefully posed so that we could look back and make ourselves believe we were happy and "in love".... or whatever mood we were supposed to be in for the created mood....

Not anymore.  Now, I could sit in a bucket of oyster shells with my woman and it could be romantic.  I could sit dead tired slumped next to her three hours before I have to work watching "Snakes on a Plane" and it could be more romantic than any "moment".

Because we are both to each other what the other sees inside whenever we are unable to see for ourselves.  We are two lights above the ocean. We are the lines inside the finger print.  We are the rat's star.

So, apparently there's some kind of suitcase-throwing, bathroom tearing, wall ripping, bag-packing crazy gene out there that lies hidden in certain lines of women.

Turns out I'm married to one of these particular kind of womenfolk.

So, before I approach the base of the stairs whenever she is not on the same level as myself, I must be careful to watch for flying objects -- such as vacuums, mops, suitcases, piles of wood, and various other potentially life-threatening projectiles.

Mind you, these sudden outbursts of overzealous housecleaning are not precipitated by any particular emotional event such as a fight or a "woman thing" to signal the rest of the house to put on an extra layer of body armor.  This thing just sort of happens on its own volition without any apparent warning, for varying spells of time, and random bursts of intensity.

I held her in the dark, because she wanted safety. I held her for security, for love, for lack of knowing what else I could do.

Long hours of soft talk and soft tears, unlit minutes listening to her voice trembling, my fingers stealing sensations from her smooth body…..

For all that passed thereafter, I will carry her half limned profile, the careful swell and dip of her woman's figure the longest.

I did intend sleep, curled up beside her, no matter what I wanted.

But…. I kissed the back of her neck -- that long, pretty neck, which always makes me think the word 'elegant,' when I stare.

I blame her hand in my hair. I blame her skin. I blame the way she smelled, her panting breath.

I don't blame her.

In the dark, pressed against me, with my light fingers on her back, (lacy fingertips down her spine) she threw back her head and I, I was content to live on her, for a while.

Knees thrown over crooked elbows, knees folded against thighs, knees tangled together with mine.

Could we have rocked like that forever, been nothing but soft gasps, moaned names?

Forever is a word that lies.

Yet, I feel that there is some truth in every lie, and here I am still in that moment, with her in my arms, crying above me, and happy.

Was it hateful providence that let one little saline bastard fall from her eye, into mine?

It's trite, but I'll hold it close, long and longer.

And I said, "I won't ask questions."

And I said, "I won't make assumptions."

Hah!

I won't ever want anything, but the dark and her, and not feeling empty....