Today I am listening to Paul Simon’s song, “Everything Put Together Falls Apart,” from his 1972 album “Paul Simon.”
It’s been a rough weekend. This morning I delivered a big grocery order to a second floor apartment and got stiffed, followed by shopping a huge order that was mislabeled. I drove 17 miles and lugged that shit up two flights of stairs for a $2 tip. I’ll never deliver to that ho again; had it been correctly labeled I wouldn’t have done it this time.
I had a cop give me that, “do you know who I am?” look after I dared to not let him pull out in front of me at Walmart. He pulled up behind my car once I parked, stopped and looked like he was getting my tag number. Go ahead on, dude. I’m not afraid of you.
And to add insult to injury, Walmart kept letting another Point Pickup delivery driver load up with three and four orders at a time. Meanwhile the kid loading me at Walmart said he didn’t understand why I consistently wait longer than other drivers to get loaded. Maybe if I was as pretty as she is….
But this is the way things are. I can’t change them. Just like I can’t change the fact that I’m broken. Sure, I’ve glued all the cracks together as best I can, but I’m still not whole, and I never will be.
It’s not a clear photo, but it does back up my claim. As I was driving down a rural road today I couldn’t believe my eyes, so I turned around to take a second look, and yes, that is a live deer on that front porch. It was looking through the door but turned to stare at me as I snapped this photo. I didn’t report them to Fish and Game; I figure the neighbors can do that. I’m just trying to make a few bucks so I can repair my gutters.
I’m probably crazy, but it’s not against the law and I’m harmless until you piss me off. Even then I only exercise my First Amendment right. The folks who live in that house in the photo above? They’re probably breaking the law.
I don’t remember the name of the woman I refer to in the poem below, but I remember this experience all these years later. I was in my twenties, and her brother hit on me at a 12-step meeting and after he had his fun, he informed me he’s not the kind to fall in love. It was after we visited her and her husband for dinner. We were standing in their yard when she told me she was broken and can’t be fixed. For years I’ve thought my lack of wholeness was my fault because I didn’t try hard enough to fix myself. But I dare you to find anyone who has tried harder than I have. I can’t be fixed. It is simply the way things are.
The Way Things Are
I once met a woman
who said she was broken.
After trying to make things right,
She eventually had the insight
that you can’t restore
what was never there before.
I thought she was crazy
and maybe a little lazy.
Surely she could find a way
to fix herself and drive away
whatever demons haunted her.
Today I looked in the mirror
and that woman came to mind
as I resigned
to being chipped and cracked.
If it was never there, it can’t come back.