Once a story’s told, it can’t help but grow old…

It’s almost 4 in the morning.

Last night, after 72 hours with barely any food (a bowl of ramen noodles and a bowl of soup spaced almost a day apart) and still not on speaking terms with The Rabbit, fighting via email… I realized that I was probably not far from a trip to the emergency room. I just hadn’t had enough food and liquid intake, and I was detachedly watching myself drifting further away. So I got her to drive me down to get fast food about 9pm…

Almost dozed off once, despite the movie blasting below me (The Lion King… “caaaaaan you sing this song toniiiiiight… It’s stuck in your heaaaaaaad!”) but as soon as I was beginning to doze, they both came clomping up the stairs and spent a good 10 minutes arguing just outside my door about whether the window in the next room had really, truly, actually been open when they went downstairs. (The answer is yes, it was, but these two can manage that long of a fight about something so stupidly simple. I don’t know how they manage it.) That was followed by them heading to the other end of the house, their room, and The Rabbit reading out loud as she’s done the last week or so, with enough volume that I found myself sarcastically wondering “so how far exactly is the stage from the audience?”

And then the diarrhea hit me. Dealing with that while trying not to scream at the sound of her voice wasn’t the most entertaining thing I’ve done this week, trust me.

Got back to my room and apparently I slept — considering I’d been awake for more than a full day, it’s not shocking. I woke up and posted a status update on Facebook, and found myself wishing, as I so often do, for rain and for the ocean…

And I remembered Rita Coolidge’s cover of the Boz Scaggs song “We’re All Alone” which I grew up listening to on a cassette dubbed from an LP my dad and uncle had chipped in their shared allowance to buy when they were younger.

Outside, the rain begins —
And it may never end,
So cry no more
On the shore
A dream will take us out to sea
Forevermore…
Forevermore.

By the time she sang the word “cry” the tears were rolling down my face, sobs catching in my throat. (And goddamn, she’s gorgeous — I didn’t know, back then, what she looked like…)

But just when I thought I had finally crested this wave of anguish that I’ve been struggling against for the last week… and I might finally cry myself to sleep, which I so very much need…

Police sirens and low-flying helicopters circling over the neighborhood. 45 minutes now and still going. Because, yeah — that’s exactly what I need to deal with in order to avoid another panic attack, right?!

I don’t know how I’ll ever get out of here, and I’m feeling so alone. Not even “we” — just myself and my pain.

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