BLUEPRINT details an emotional roller-coaster ride, depicting one manís confrontation with grief, healing, and destiny.
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Eddie Diamond's wife, Ruthie, died six months ago, and he's unable to see
through the dark, gaping hole in his life. As he holds down his job as a letter carrier, he grapples with memories of Ruthie, fighting despair and loneliness. With the help of Rosita, an unusual therapist, he breaks through, and is drawn to a new love, Donna.
But his past continues to shadow him like an overcast sunrise.
Only a drastic decision on his part, desperate and nearly fatal, makes it
plain that life unfolds ďlike some predestined plan, some foregone
conclusion, some kind of cosmic blueprint.Ē
Itís confusing, wanting to end it all and wanting to live and move on, both at the same time, a constant battle, like having two angels in my mind. One looks like Snow White, beatific and serene, sending me the message to hang in there, that itíll get better, that the good times are ahead. The other looks like Frankensteinís daughter, dressed in torn black lace, with a sneer of uneven teeth, with a stare that could peel paint. She tells me with a cackle to end it all, to throw in the towel, to buy the farm once and for all.
So itís back and forth, working, running off cliffs; listening to music, swallowing an overdose of pills, jogging, jumping off bridges. In my mind I invariably think of Ruthie, how one day sheís talking and thinking and eating, and the next day sheís gone. I figure she had to go somewhere, but where? I spindle my gaze, trying to see the hereafter, feeling there must be worlds beyond our sight, but to no avail. Itís like the Magic Eye books, where you look at a page of dots, lines, and circles. If you let your eyes go slack, the page turns into another world of peacocks parading in line, smiling with big toothed grins and upturned tails. If I could somehow let my eyes go slack in a certain way, maybe I could see Ruthieís world or even Ruthie herself. Or maybe if I was comatose, or unconscious for a long time, I could steal a glimpse, an insight, a revealing morsel about what goes on beyond what we see. But all I have to go on is what I see, what I feel inside, and the voices in my head. And as far as Iím concerned, this is hell, right now, this living without Ruthie and working a government job and feeling like shit half the time.
So Iím donít make sense. Thatís the way itís been since Ruthie died. I love my job and I hate it. One day Iím relaxed and laughing, and the next day Iím ready to chuck the whole thing. Itís like living in a storm, turmoil swirling around me, not knowing if life is to be good or if itís going to be curtains for me that day.