Man on the Moon

Tonight I watched Man on the Moon which is a movie that makes me so significantly sad I can't believe it. Tom and I watched it way back when and even then I proceeded to view and review REM's video title song over and over. And now I am doing it again. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hKSYgOGtos)

And I don't know know why. Used to be when I would do stuff like this Tom would hold me in his arms and remind me it was just a movie, or just a little bird that died, or just the way things go.

Once I literally curled up in a ball when the dog I loved at the dog track tripped and tumbled over and over. It never occurred to me they could get hurt. The dog was not hurt but I still cried until we left. When Patrice got kicked off of some rocker elimination show Tom had to calm to down by reminding I was probably the only non-relative in the country balling about it. I never watched the show again.

And last night I helped save a little dog who has now been passed to much more skilled and loving, generous hands than mine. And I am crying thinking about her alone in a cold and noisy kennel. (Her name is Ronnie Mac).

I never knew until 20 months and five days ago that my life had two parts. It had the part I did all alone during the day or away from the house, and the part when I went home and told Tom. And I sort of thought they were equal. And they were not. The part I did alone was 10% and the part with Tom was 90%. And losing the 90% does not in any way make the 10% fill the void. And we can say nice things like Tom is watching and loves Ronnie Mac but he isn't. He is dead. And I am at 10% and the dog fell at the track and Patrice is not famous and Ronnie may be cold.