A friend messaged me last night…
“FUCK!! You left out what Bob said!!”
She went on to say he was one of her favorites and she still reads every one of my posts.
I think after 20 years of being a listening ear?
and putting up with me.
You get to ask for Bob to make an appearance 🙂
Bob my inner therapist. He is the voice of sanity, when my other Kelly’s rise up and sometimes take the wheel.
As I laid in bed sandwiched between Angry Kelly and Crazy Kelly, with Sad Kelly hunkered down at the foot of the bed, I heard a voice clear their throat…
We all looked up, and Crazy Kelly quickly hid the bottle of Vodka we had been passing around.
“Aren’t you all a mess today,” Bob smiled down at us, standing at the foot of my bed.
“Fff..uuu..cc..kkk,” Crazy Kelly slurred trying to sit up.
“Bob??” Sad Kelly wiped her eyes as she pulled the covers back.
Angry Kelly glared at him, and threw her pillow towards his smiling face.
Bob caught the pillow and gently laid it at Angry Kelly’s feet.
“We’re making progress I see, ” he chuckles to himself. ” Not a month full of crying and anger, not even a whole week of it. This is the smallest pity party I’ve seen on your anniversary.”
“Fuck you very much Bob,” Angry Kelly kicks the pillow off her feet and it smacks Sad Kelly in the face.
“Still having anger issues I see,” Bob opens his notebook and writes quickly. ” But thats to be expected, so is sadness and sometimes wanting to make unwise choices.” He nods towards Crazy Kelly who has quickly took another swing of the vodka, and is struggling to keep it down.
“But I’m so tired of it still hurting,” whines Sad Kelly as a tear rolls down her cheek. “It’s not fair..”
“Life my sweet imaginary friends, has never been about fair,” Bob hands Crazy Kelly the trash can as she loses the battle and her lunch.
“Shut the fuck up Bob, no one invited you!!” Angry Kelly wrinkles her nose as the smell of vomit reaches her.
“Well as figments of Kelly’s imagination? None of us were invited, it’s kind of like a high school kegger, we all just crash these pity parties.” Bob pats Crazy Kelly’s back as she starts heaving again.
“Is it ever going to hurt less Bob?” I ask him. ” Am I ever going to be fully healed and able to just be me, just happy? Normal? Free of the anger, sadness and crazy? ”
“These sides of you,” Bob motions towards the other Kellys,” they are as much a part of you now as Funny Kelly, Mom Kelly and Kind Kelly. You used to hide these parts, afraid to acknowledge they were there. Afraid to admit to being anything but ‘Facebook’ perfect. Now you not only acknowledge them but embrace them. ” Bob strokes Sad Kelly’s hair softly.” You have come so far Kelly, from the Kelly laying in the bottom of her tub crying, to the one sitting here now. You are stronger, braver, and a okay kind of crazy. A crazy which let’s you be you with no apologies, it keeps you insanely sane.”
“What does that mean Bob, no seriously, stop the mumbo jumbo bullshit therapist lingo and tell us what the fuck it means?!?” Angry Kelly slams her fist down.
“It means you’re going to be okay, and while you will probably never celebrate your wedding anniversary again, there are worse things.” Bob closes his book, and tucks his pen in his shirt pocket.
“Worse?!?” All Kellys ask in a chorus of voices.
Bob chuckles,” Yes, worse, you could all be forever known as the CanCan Whore of Valdez.”
Bob turns to walk away,” And that my sweet Kellys is something that lingers forever… longer than sadness, anger or even vodka smelling vomit. Because no matter what she does? Being a dancing, tutu wearing, selfie taking, lip puckering, fucker of husbands and random men? It’s a legacy which will never be overcome,” Bob stops in a the doorway,” As a smart women once said, whore is a hard smell to get out..” Bob waves and in a puff of magic fairy dust disappears.
As do the other Kellys, leaving behind only a rumpled bed and lingering smell of vomit.
“When I was young I had imaginary friends
and boy did we have fun
One day my mother told me they were just pretend
and then I had no one
Building castles out of dirty, smelly sand
and baking in the sun
Hear the sound of the popsicle man
and we’d run, run, run, run, run, run, run
And My life is like a movie
everyone is going slow
There’s a crazy cast of characters
none of which are real at all
and I cannot feel you anymore
\n No, no, no, no, no
In the summer, we will spend the night outside
in the comfort of our own backyards
Then we got older and we went our seperate ways
and everything got hard
Look at me, I’m getting older
Look at me, I know
Look at me, I’m getting older
Look at me, I know”