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I feel quite certain that I’ve mentioned this before – my MOST Amazing Bob checked out of this crazy-ass world on a Monday. At 6:15 PM to be all precise and shit. Mondays are already heavily laden with the agony of being at the tippy top of another work week, the weekend’s fleeting pleasures are, sadly, deep in the rear view mirror and now, NOW, there's this gigantic loss perched atop like a monstrously malevolent cherry.
Yeah, fucking, Joy-Joy City.
TAB is gone and, despite my dreams and bottomless desires, he ain’t comin’ back. This is, to say the very least TOTALLY fucking fucked up! On Mondays. it takes very little to trigger the grief tsunamis.
An example – yesterday, when I checked the mail, I found that:
I was immediately into the mondo sodden mass action. I was missing my beautiful man as though he’d just exited stage left mere moments ago.A) it was all junk
and
B) it was ALL for TAB – a prostate cancer survey from Brigham and Women's, a please-go-in-debt-to-us credit card offer and a LAST CHANCE notice for renewing his New Yorker subscription.
That was some cold, rude fucking, effective junk mail!
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Me and Hunny Pie |
I checked in with his medics to get care and feeding instructions. They warned me – he’s fab now but it won’t last. After all, cancer was still raging through his system. It’d knock him out soonly. I was thrilled to have this respite though – however brief it’d be. One last sweet, wonderful patch of joy for TAB and me.
And then I woke up.
To paraphrase Mister Withers:
Ain't no sunshine when he's goneBill Withers – Ain't No Sunshine
And this house just ain't no home
Now that he's gone away.
Aerosmith - I Don't Want to Miss a Thing
Dionne Warwick – (There's) Always Something There to Remind Me
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