Athena Spills Her Marbles

Mmmm, someone’s having a barbecue!  Makes me think of campfires.  Oh GOD!  Suddenly the longing in my heart to build a camp fire is unbearable!  Seriously.  A thousand images just twirled swiftly through the crystalline mind of Athena Grace.  Images of forest floors carpeted with dry pine needles, pine cones and unwieldy, long dry sticks.  The sun ducks behind a burly blue mountain and suddenly chill surges in like fresh blood after a tunicate.  You know what that means?  All signs point to= time to forage for campfire materials!  Time to walk about the sweet scented piney wilderness, scouring the ground for armloads of sticky pinecones and hefty sticks.  Jesus, I WISH I could convey to you the feelings these ghosts of camping trips past are evoking in me.  I feel strangely soothed and whole.  At once young and ancient.  Very peaceful.  Purposeful.

Ask me how long it’s been since I was camping.  Well, if you did ask, I would tell you it’s been three years.  And then I would shamefully hide my blush laden face.  Life without camping is like life without pet Mexican jumping beans and Orange Crush and fat, sassy ponies on roller skates.  Skuze me for getting far out and silly allofa sudden… it’s just that I was trying too hard here at the beginning of this blog… I swear, writing that first paragraph took me like half an hour and by the end, I felt rigid and stricken with a case of the crumpled grumps.  I was about to throw in the soiled, repugnant blogging towel.  But Mykael beseeched me to keep going, and I love a good challenge…
So my only option was to spill my marbles out all over the place and watch them scatter and roll aimlessly in every which direction.  I feel better.  But I still don’t know what to write about.  What do you want to hear?  What do you want to think about?  Hotdogs?  I bet there’s nothing you’d rather think about right now than a greasy, beefy frank, swaddled in a whiter than thou bun.  What would you put on your hotdog?  Seriously!  Tell me!  What would you put on your hotdog?  I’d put liquid nacho “cheese”, sweet pickle relish and gummy coke bottles.  AHhhh, it feels so awesome not to have to make any sense.  I miss cracking myself up.

When I was “married” to Eric, I used to crack myself up on a regular basis.  I don’t know what it was about him, but I’d get into these weird moods… kinda like Andy Kauffman… Except Athena Grace style… (Me and Andy have the same birthday)  If you were a fly on the wall, you’d probably think I’m crazy.  But I’m not.  I’m just alive and still kinda constantly stupefied and enchanted by this fact.  Something about the way Eric would respond to me was like an amplification device… He didn’t DO much at all… just the way he BE-ed… was like… a wall that made me bounce back against myself with even more force and get more riled up.  Like when you don’t have a tennis partner, you just go and smack the ball against the wall for a while for shits and giggles.  Back in the day, man… I was a high roller when it came to shits and giggles.  But recently, I seem to fold mostly after the first hand.  My shit and giggle count is dangerously low.

That’s what I get for trying to be so profound and holy and mature and responsible all the time.  But the other day I saw Eric and lo and behold, the next thing I knew, I was pretending to have sharp talons and clawing at his bear arm and feeling instantaneously drunk on the punch of ridiculousness cubed.  He just stood there blinking and confused and for some reason this wound me up and I found myself at a crucial fork in my behavioral road where I could either choose to reel myself back in and partake in the moment as a civilized, church going, panty wearing lady… OR… I could have let myself be swept west of oblivion to where the sun don’t shine on those who choose to walk the road of the sane and restrained.  Can you guess which side of the line I walked?  Since the space between my ex and me is still tenuous and freshly reborn I chose to “act my age”.  Ha!  Why did that crack me up?  Act my age.

If someone had’ve told me I’d be just as much of a circus monkey in swan’s clothing now as I was then… I’d a said, “Oh goodie!”

Amen.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Meg
    Aug 03, 2010 @ 07:17:12

    I like to walk around like I have a duck butt sometimes. Chris just stares and snickers which spurns me on more and I feel so loved, appreciated (?..not really sure what the feeling is) when he asks me to do it out of the blue. I’ll have to show you sometime. I’m not gonna lie – it’s living to the nth degree. It’s a pretty sweet move that I “invented” at about the age of 20 on a boring Wednesday night rather than studying.

    Reply

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