They said love lasts forever.
Maybe it wasn’t love.
Maybe that was the length of our forever.
Oh silly heart!
wanting things you can’t have
hoping for things you don’t need
loving the one soul you shouldn’t
hopelessly waiting to be freed
When it hurts to be numb
Twisting the knife in your own back
Is all you can do to feel something.
Then you float on the high
Of knowing that you are still human
And you once knew the opposite of pain.
The absence of what was not
Is greater than the destruction of what was.
Memories of dreams of fantasies
Corrupted by reality’s untruths
Now drift down into the abyss.
the more people you lose
the more of your self you regain.
the less people you love
the deeper you feel the pain.
the Universe shows up
and holds your hand home.
your soul will be free again
for another’s heart to roam.
I once fell in love with a human bean
Who got planted and grew in my soul.
My veins are now the roots and branches
Of a tree in no rush to grow old.
Step 1: Find a reason
15 years ago, I had an awesome reason to build a tree house. My best friends and I had recently created a Best Friends Club and we thought it befitting of our elite group to have a place of our own. When our first two club house options proved to be too great a construction task, we defaulted to a tree house. Because come on, how hard could it possibly be to build a tree house?
Step 2: Find a tree
A tree house requires a good tree for a base. A good tree will have a wide and sturdy trunk, strong and low enough branches, and will be located at a central spot on good, flat terrain. Our tree was none of the above. We chose a skinny lime tree with a thorny trunk and branches, on a rocky slope in my best friend’s backyard.
Step 3: Gather building material
Lumber is ideal. However, when the University woodshop has a scrap pile, the pieces found there will make do. Lots of nails will be necessary, or handy at the very least, especially when found in an office undergoing construction at the University. Depending on your location and the scope of your project, zinc could also come in handy. If said zinc is already being used as a shack for a farmer down the street, simply run at full speed and kick down said shack. If the pieces of zinc are much bigger than you anticipated, grab the farmer’s crate and run away from the scene.
Step 4: Be flexible where building plans are concerned
It could prove quite difficult to actually get up into the tree, so be prepared to build the tree house beneath the tree. The trunk can be used as a central column, and the space between the trunk and the lowest branch makes for an ideal kitchen window.
Step 5: Build!
On the off chance that your building plans change and the foundation of your tree house is a gravelly slope, a paved floor is the first order of the day. In the absence of actual cement, marl and stones will substitute poorly. In any case, mix marl, stones, dirt, sticks (and anything the shovel picks up) in an old wheelbarrow with a gaping hole in the center. Pave floor as best as possible and leave to dry. Next is the wall. Nail one single piece of board to the trunk. If there is additional lumber, another wall (or 3) would be strongly recommended.
Step 6: Decorate and add finishing touches
Take a single pane of glass from your own kitchen window, without your Mother’s permission. Also take one kitchen towel to use as a curtain. Wedge the pane of glass between the trunk and the lowest branch and nail the kitchen curtain across. Step back and admire the handiwork, then go home because it’s been a long day and your parents will not appreciate you getting home after dark.
Step 7: Treasure the memories
About a week after we built our tree house, it was destroyed in a hurricane. It could also have been a very strong thunderstorm that completely unhinged our wall. In any case, our window stood firm. We didn’t have much time with our tree house, but it was a magnificently fun adventure and we will forever treasure the memories.
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I am woozy and light-headed. My left foot hurts and my chest has a weird ache. Thank God it’s not my ankle because that would definitely mean chik-v. I am now so cold. My pajamas, hoodie, sheet, and blanket are not making this any better. Is this headache for real, though? Crap. I should have blended those now dry and wilted papaya leaves like my husband had suggested.
Mother of God, I am at Death’s door. Or maybe his verandah. Who cares, I’m in his neighbourhood. There are fireworks behind my eyes and lava where my brain should be. My entire body is sprained. Warm tears now run down my cheek and I am having the opposite of a full body massage.
I am constantly being transported between a live volcano and Antarctica. Mortals call it the chills. I am so hot, Frodo would take the ring to be destroyed on my forehead. More papaya leaf juice. Or extract. It’s so bitter it would make Hitler cringe. At this point I would swallow a snail if it would make me better. Painkillers are as effective as Sweetarts.
My geriatric limbs cannot take me to the bathroom in less than a minute. My bladder has forgotten how to bladder. Everything tastes weird. Is this soup or thick water? Surely I will feel better tomorrow.
Headache has receded to the back of my skull and the rest of the pains follow suit. I can shower on my own. I can walk to the kitchen. Too bad I’m out of water; my lip is cracked and chapped. Thank God I don’t have ebola. This is the worst lettuce I’ve ever tasted.
I feel good. I will sweep and clean up this messy place. Right after I make some pineapple-cherry juice and go buy some sugar. Wait, where the heck is this headache coming from again? Didn’t I just get 5 minutes of valuable sunshine and fresh air? Am I not cured of this pestilence?
Ugh, the little beans behind my ears, in my pits, and you know, there, now hurt. Why do I feel so itchy? Ugh.
Mother of God. My beans are killing me! I am 95 again and tastefully dotted with red splotches everywhere. My face is shedding disgracefully and itching forcefully. What. The. Actual. Heck. Welcome back fever, you were missed. Truly.
James Vincent McMorrow is transporting me to another world. I see Chinese ladies playing banjos in a field. I need him to sing the soundtrack to my life. And sing it live at my funeral. Because surely I am laying in Death’s own soft, spongy, double bed.
I am still here. And James is still with me. My beans are smaller but still very tender. My taste buds are working now and I have a reservoir of water. My lips are still extremely chapped.
Surely this virus was created by the US as a means of biological warfare. I am itching to scratch myself. Maybe I should create a human grater? No. Better I make bed angels. Think snow angels. Ah, it works.
Crazy thought: aren’t bodies just so weird? It’s like, it’s a person but when the person dies, it’s just a thing because the person is so much more: a personality, a host of special memories and moments. But what is one without the other? I don’t know. I’m probably high on Histal right now. My baby is gonna be so cute.