Blast From The Past

This is a post from another lifetime. I had these imaginings seven full years ago. In that stretch my rear view mirror's witnessed a shit ton of action. I've clocked some excruciatingly sad and scary as hell times AS WELL AS revelationally happy ones.

I never thought I would smile and feel whole again after The Amazing Bob shuffled off this mortal coil. Time and Ten – they work a splendid treat.

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In an alternate universe, on an alternate time line I was, I did. I became...

When I left my carnival life behind, I sought out and joined The Big Apple Circus where I learned to ride ponies bareback without fear and fly, in sequins and spangles of course, on the lofty trapeze. Then, THEN came the Cirque du Soleil where I learned how to fly nicely with others (always profitable, salubrious even, to get along with your coworkers).

After that I would have become involved in theater—painting sets and hunting up appropriate props for any given show. Brooklyn Heights would have been my home. Or Alphabet City—either one.

Naturally, this is where I would have met The Amazing Bob—he exists/WE exist in ALL alternate universes. He would have been the theater company’s resident poet, re-write king and, of course, total hot babe.

In an alternate universe I was a squatter, I was besetzen. I occupied, painted and sculpted in an awesome industrial space within the Kreuzberg section of Berlin. Yeah, das bin mich!

In an alternate universe I worked on the pediatric burn ward at Mass General  going home each night in tears, drowning the pain by proxy in Chianti and Jamisons.

In an alternate universe, I never met TAB and spent my years tweaked out on any random opiate to get past the exquisitely intense feelings of alienation. I refuse to believe that universe could ever possibly exist.

The Amazing Bob with grandkiddles

In an alternate universe, TAB and I had a zillion kids (much like the dream I had last night). He would be the stay at home loving, wondrous parent and I would be the bread winner, the eclair earner, the grub getter. TAB is amazing with kids. Kids and animals. And humans of all kinds. Me—not so much and that’s OK. I’m good with cats. OK, I’m a feline doormat—NOT the same thing as being good with cats, I suppose.

On that note—in an alternate universe, all our cats, indoor and porch dwelling, would get along like halvah and green grapes, like Tristan and Isolde, like Cheech and Chong. Ah, you get where I’m going on this.

In an alternate universe, Jen and I are the same age and went through high school hell together. We were skateboarding, stoner, art babes, standing together against the frumious bandersnatches who stood in our way.

Alternate universes are interesting places to vacation.