I’m so embarrassed I could die.
When we reunited after separating
years ago, I thought we could sit on the couch
and watch TV like a normal couple because
everything was fine, but that was a lie.
Now I drive around in my adult life
going to work, keeping appointments and
listening to depressing songs: “Fast Car”
by Tracy Chapman, “Disintegration” by
The Cure, wondering how we can be
so far into this thing, and still
not be sure of each other.
We should be nearly there, that age where
we’re ready to sit on a porch peacefully
together holding hands, looking back
with wonder on our lives.
Gratitude and wisdom, not this
adolescent anguish and indecision
sheer ridiculousness of this mess.
But there is no “making it” in relationships
(my therapist reminds me), and in the world
there is no safety, it is always already
the “full catastrophe”*
And if I was going to grow up
finally, I guess it may have been
necessary to regress
a bit first.
*”Wife, children, house, everything. The full catastrophe.” Alexis Zorba in the movie “Zorba The Greek” - The full catastrophe - Wikipedia
The full catastrophe is a comic phrase usually used to characterize any kind of disaster.
