I’ve been listening to the Stones all week. It’s not quite the full on Clash revival I was having at the beginning of the month, but it’s been a pretty solid rotation for the last few days. Then I remembered—today is Jagger‘s birthday, which means it’s Paul’s birthday.
This could be a whole long story, but the truth is I’m not ready to tell it. I’m not even sure how. But I’m a fairly tightly wound individual a lot of the time and once we had this friend, Tara and Andrea and I, who could actually make me relax. He was serious about breakfast meat and beer and eating tomatoes off the vine. When I was so tired of waiting for everyone to get ready to go out that I wound up in bed in my plastic electric blue reflective pants, Paul simply smiled and nodded and said, “I understand bed.”
He made living seem effortless to me. And then, at the end of that summer after college when we’d all become so close, he died. As the years go by I miss him more and more. I have a knot in my throat right now and tears streaming down my face…and I have to remind myself that Paul wouldn’t have liked that.
Those girls have been my best friends for the last nine years. The best and worst times of my adult life, I’ve gone through it all with them. And when the big things happen, I just want Paul here to allow me to laugh about them. I just want him here, period.
So, I’m interrupting this blog-cast, which never happens here in OCPD-land, because I couldn’t let the day go by without doing something. And this is all I can do.