I can’t remember if we decided that Stephin Merritt was an ass or not the last time we talked about him. I kind of think we decided he was an ass, but so were his critics. Isn’t that how it is?
I was trying to find that Magnetic Fields song that goes “A pretty girl in her underwear/ If there’s anything better in this world, who cares?” and then “A pretty boy in his underwear/ If there’s any other reason to jump for joy, who cares?” when I accidentally found “The Book of Love,” which is such a beautiful song that I want to hear a choir sing it.
I like the whole song. It’s short and sweet and I really like the idea of the Book of Love being just this enormous almost useless tome sitting unmovable in a library some place. And how it contains all these things “facts, and charts and instructions for dancing” as well as having music in it. And yet, each couple must work out between them for themselves how love goes.
And, at the end, when he sings, “I love it when you give me things and you ought to give me wedding rings.” It just gets me right in the heart.
We’re going up to my cousin’s wedding on Thursday. I really, really don’t want to go. It’s not that I don’t think he should get married. Shoot, I love his fiancee. Anyone who drives my family that crazy should be immediately welcomed in with open arms. And who doesn’t get a little misty-eyed and optimistic about folks setting off together in the world?
It’s just that Greg won’t be there. And he won’t be there not because he’s hiding from scary folks who want their money or that he’s in no shape to come or that he’s out in the parking lot trying to talk the younger folks into letting him into their cars to “make phone calls” when really he’s up to whatever weird thing he’s up to.
He couldn’t be there if he wanted. What a terrible fucking waste, you know? Just what a stupid, stupid fucking waste.
We always joke that we only get together at weddings and funerals.
That “we” gets smaller and smaller.
That’s the bullshit thing about grief, too, you know? That you’re sitting here six months later and it’s like your hearing of his passing for the first time.
I’m a mess. I’m really sorry that I’m a mess.
But let’s be optimistic. I just have to get through this weekend and then it’s on to Boston and no matter what happens in Boston, there are no dead relatives there, haunting the peripheries of all this family time. Let’s hope things here at Tiny Cat Pants return to normal at that point.
Until then, let’s just muddle through as best we can.