sleepless in Morgantown or, why marrying is a risky proposition but I'll do it again

When my mind gets onto the more Gordian of issues, especially at bedtime, I am left with two options, usually.

I can divert myself (I know how to do this) or run with it (the danger being I stay awake for a bit).

Last night I chose the latter, as I wanted to see where my mind would take me.

It started with my pondering what I shall get Ann for her birthday. For those of you who do not know her, Ann is my ex-wife #2. We were married for about six years. I initially encountered her while changing planes in Dallas-Fort Worth Airport and we became friends on the flight to LA. At the time...let's just say she had huge issues to overcome in her life..

We corresponded, as friends, and then about a year later, after she had assisted me on the Southern Poet's Readers Tour (at which she explained to everyone who would listen that we were soulmates and lovers on every level but the physical) she asked if she could move in with me in LA, just as friends, while she pursued her modelling dreams (there's a little more to the story, but that's the basic, official story with the least number of toes being tread upon). I was initially uncertain but eventually assented and flew to Mississippi to assist in her move. On the road to LA (or, according to my poetry, the Road to Damascus) she made her move and we were "involved" by the time we made it to LA. Six months later she proposed.

During this time I had been dumping money with psychistrists and treatment counselors to help her overcoming a problem with prescription medications. Three months after we were wed, at my urging, she started a 12-Step Program and has now been clean for over seven years (I presume still clean, for personal political reasons (hers) we have not spoken for nearly six months). She ended up being the cover model for two of my books (enclosed) and, despite our best intentions to keep our parting amicable, there are those around her who believe that unless you hate, you cannot heal (which is perverse on some many levels I do not know where to begin).



There's a lot more to it. But, again, you'll have to wait for the eventual and inevitable release of my book WINGS AS OFT LEATHERY AS FEATHERY, the much dreaded memoir, for more details. No matter what your surface perceptions are, to quote the tagline for "American Beauty", look closer.

So I was up until about 1:30 last night, trying to decide on whether to send her a birthday present and what it should be. I final figured that out (an interesting packet that shall include, I assure you, at least one of the books I have finally been able to finish work on since she made her exit)...now to figure out how to get it to her. It seems that my last few mailings prior to the great silence, sort of vanished into the ether. According to her, five consecutive packages, to two different addresses, never made it to her hands.

That was just the first 10-15 minutes of the 2-1/2 hour internal dialogue that kept me up last night, but I got to look in a lot of emotional and mental corners, visit some strange terrain and have a bright debate between my different aspects on my current vows of celibacy. One o'clock in the morning is a good time for that debate, let me tell you.

Anyway.

Tomorrow is my Dad's birthday!

In two weeks I have a birthday, and the day after that I have my speech at the Arts Week festivities. Haven't even begun working on it.