Warning: Iām Saying The F-Word
Cuddly chihuahua fur across my hand razor singed while soda cans strapped under my feet were invisible. I looked, found nothing. Neither did my doctors, comparing my initial nervous system strike to a fire alarm sounding in the absence of smoke. If awake, I was to visit an acupuncturist where I reclined needled for 3 hours. Fact: I procrastinated my most difficult subject into posting late.
My untypical dread of Valentineās Day spirals a soft-serve of anger, years, and tears, sprinkled in candy hearts. The mystery platter, presented flambĆ© style, by a pain train boarding my every underlying condition on the 14th of 2016 charred away years. Under deathlike concern, I unlisted from physical and online presence until a new medical team with UCSF adjusted the turnout. Not what you were expecting? Me neither. Consider this a ārefer to the spreadsheetā1 briefly acknowledging the rarely discussed f-word: fibromyalgia.
The truth is, I usually adore Valentineās Day.Ā My eyes find hidden heart shapes with delight everywhere. Nine varieties of color coordinated roses, I could plant tomorrow tending their temperament. The most beautiful red apples, hot pink candles, love themed statues, fine lotus oil, and scattered silk rose petals in various blends of pink and red grace my bedroom decor. This is my everyday, unconditional zen practice. Celebration returned this year as an āartist dateā2 to see Jonathan Richman3 and Tommy Larkins perform in Downtown Sonoma early March, following the NorCal SAG Awards gathering, and toting a value pack of mini Polaroid film to share the love during both events.
My green room begets two gears of February: killing it with positive momentum, or spilling it into a pillow under weighty thought. āSlow progress is still progress,ā remains beyond dry erasing on a refrigerator magnet. Patience is history as I scream at a life scratched. I can transform into a werewolf, I learned, while every bone in my body popped and cracked following numerous hydration IVs. Screenplays began to surface. Since national television did not hear me receive a SAG award: Fuck it! My slate is clear and life begins again within my fortress of tolerance. Iām now the best Iāve been in years.
Aside from the two-to-ten-and-back-again, Eros and I need to chat. It is possible I defy Craig Fergusonās unlikeliness theory proving the existence of god based on the pairing of Siegfried and Roy4. The ridiculousness of what Iāve heard! āYouāre too dramatic.ā (My favorite!) āI want to go out with a real model.ā I was called jealous by a rudely inappropriate someone then released a fire dragon to incinerate him. I sat in a cafe bar in a love triangle no one informed me existed, until it exploded in an absurd argument scattering my NYC local. Though the top date killer of all time, and most requested story by female friends, is āCan you rub salve on my back. Iām in a vampire cult and my band members drink one anotherās blood.āĀ Eros needs to fix this! I insist. All of it.
It could be I am made for no mere mortal, though must return elated for Valentineās Day with or without a double arrow. To get over the hump of recovering back into life and beyond the threshold of insufficient romance, I assign myself to Eros.
The best discoveries are reached from the grapevine.Ā
Please do tell a few friends of common interests. Share directly, or via social media.
Scene Sample
JULIETTE
(with a snow leopard print blanket wrapped over her shoulders,rose petals still attached and sprinkling behind her, she wanders, into the courtyard to sit on a garden bench near a hedge of white roses)
Eros, on this full moon youāre likely busy-bee-ing with arrows of wild enchantment. Valentineās Day month, your specialty, passed. Iām in a sparkling bustier, early March, spilling a trail of silk rose petals behind me, eating strawberries from my photograph in post #4. Iām late! Iām never late, now late on life. Every idle breath of February spilled grief into my pillow. Eros, I need you to fix this!
EROS
(shirtless and winged with the tone of an archer, Eros glides forward from background as the light of a man manifesting through darkness. He slides up to the right side of the seated Juliette and whispers into her ear) Hello. (he fluidly pulls back with a smile, sliding within the blanket partially to the left side facing her to lounge in conversation, somewhat curved around her) Itās time you called, my pleasure to finally catch you. Do tell, (reaches for her hand) what must be your woe, love. (kisses her hand while gazing into her eyes and pulls back with a smile)
JULIETTE
Am I benched or banished, returning to life a female version of Encino Man? I called Aphrodite. We purged, we shopped, we purged again. Sheās my permanent lead.
EROS
As I see. (playing with her hair) My mother is proud of her preparation, with no intention of releasing your spirit, or the last two wine cases of sand dollars. She adores your gift! (caresses her shoulder)
JULIETTE
Wonderful! (hugs him close) - Iāve considered separating from The Fictitious Significant Other, maybe sending him into a sitcom in the grand ballroom and out of my courtyard of reality before it resembles the cover of Vertigo: Winter's Edge #3 from 1999. (releases back to gaze into Eros) He may have sabotaged my blind date with the absent could-be-architect-of-my-dreams.
EROS
(leans forward to caress her cheek) Ya donāt say. (Pulls back with a tilted soft smile) Though I can assure you I was not involved this time. (Beat) And Fictitious is, well, fictitious. Whatās really going on within this lovely ensemble.(reaching forward to run a finger around her heart while gazing, leans in to smell her neck)
JULIETTE
This whole thing with arrows hasnāt stuck. And your aim is of unparalleled accuracy.
EROS
Yes, Iāve been at this for ages. (gazed solidly into her eyes)
JULIETTE
Then I donāt have a match!?! (leans in to collapse her head into his shoulder) Iām not even a gay lion tamer!
EROS
(wraps his arms around her torso) Iāve seen you break off a shaft and absorb an arrowhead, whole, like a monster. Theyāre unretrievable, love.
JULIETTE
These lessons, tests, doused beginnings ā¦ (raises her head in confirming thought) wait, I feel connection to none of it, a bare āennnhā and a compounded inherent wisdom.
EROS
(runs the back of his hand up her neck and under her chin while conversing) You hold certain things within memory. (shifts a gaze to her lips then her eyes, slightly smiles) I must do something with you, and youāre extremely picky. Bears donāt hibernate like this. (beat) As for my arrows, you are my Neo in the Matrix dodging bullets. If I land you twenty times in the back, you walk around an oblivious pin cushion.
(feels her back for indication of arrows) Iāve seen you pick up a microphone to efficiently friend-zone an entire room.
JULIETTE
Just tell me, is there a double arrow of compatibility in your quiver for me? Iāve plucked the out of reach, wisdom or warning tests, and step away if you value your life pricks.
EROS
I favored you back on December 10, 2021. I delivered inspiration.
JULIETTE
4:44PM exact, I knew that was you! That was no arrow. That was a harpoon! A sneak attack on your part, though so out of bounds, Eros.
EROS
I recall hearing you exhale a, āNooooo!ā in slow motion until the sedation settled. (Smiles)
JULIETTE
I was home alone.
EROS
(restrained grin, pleased with himself) Whatever it takes, love. Youāre doing so much better since. (pulls close and in a soft, warm tone says)
What you need, love, is one who will tear into you chest, (gazes closer into her heart) and keep tearing , and tearing, until that heart of your plops out an endless bleeding radiant mess exposing the glowing golden arrow embedded, (raises gaze to her eyes) then stares certainly into to your eyes, openly wounded and unable to close, (touches her cheek) and tears in again thoroughly, only then you are taken. Only the keeper can hold without fail.
JULIETTE
So whoās kill am I, Eros?
EROS
(grins, with a motion of silent contained giggle)
JULIETTE
You bring to mind the guardian of the fortress of tolerance.
EROS
Precisely. Belonging to your third story, yet to be introduced.
JULIETTE
Can you bring him into real life? How do I find him? To recognize beyond a mask.
EROS
Leave deliverance and sight, of flaring blaze, unto mine. Your move must flesh forward. Timing, love ā¦ and place.
JULIETTE
My move! - Pegasus! Iām concerned might roam the bar in the pumpkin patch. White Russians, also allergic to milk as myself, I overheard conversed. - My horse must be appeased to fly, and my face leave the pillow. Maybe it is easier to aim out of country than find a new home in California.
EROS
You know how Iām partial to Greece, and Italy is much closer. We could hang a dart board. May I fly you over to story three, love?
JULIETTE
We should change our names.
Song Of The Post
The best discoveries are reached from the grapevine.Ā
Please do tell a few friends of common interests. Share directly, or via social media.
New here? Enjoy a complementary subscription, from me to you. š
āThe spreadsheetā is from the scene sample in Incandescent Palace #3: Sand Dollar Hoarder & The Fictitious Significant Other
An āartist dateā is a fun solo adventure to revive the inspired mind. The activity is a concept from the book The Artistās Way by Julia Cameron.
Listen to Jonathan Richman on Spotify.
Watch a clip from Craig Furgesonās stand up comedy on Siegfried and Roy as provenance for the existence of God. (Dirty jokes ahead!)
Juliette,
Your writing is an arrows length beyond picturesque. The blending of fiction and non-fiction playfully creates a pallet with infinite imagery, colorization, & multi dimensional variations.
2-14 is often a day of dread to many.
Perhaps itās the concentration of a years worth of angst, love (abundance or lack of)and or desire for true connection. EX: Hedwig āThe origin of loveā
So no milk?
How about coffee or tea?
Patrick
I wholeheartedly agree with everything Patrick wrote here on your writing! You weave such a rich tapestry. I'm in awe. From where do all these beautiful descriptions and metaphors spill forth? I really, really like the blend of fiction and non as a format. The F word (the longer one) is something I'd love to read more about. No doubt so many women would feel seen in your descriptions. And oh. Vampires!! You may have me beat in a competition for Worst Date Ever. Perhaps getting out of SF really is the secret. Also, the best men I know love dramatic women. (And look at that picture! Who wouldn't love you?!) :::insert fire emoji:::