It's far too late to post, though truth be told, this one was going to be far easier on the eyes than what I've given you to read lately...
It will however have to keep until tomorrow when I'm not falling asleep in my chair, in front of my computer, freezing my little non-painted toes off.
And though technically tomorrow is already today, it's still going to have to wait until much later.
Straight Out of the Fog
Sometimes it's easier to hide behind a wall of words. Walking your way gently around the edges, coming just within reach of the moment you might, before hitting the wall of can't take the chance just yet.
Sometimes something needs to be said so loudly that the only way to contain it is to silence it completely from the outside world. You shelter it as if it needs protection. You give it plenty of space to call its own, but somewhere along the way you sacrifice yourself to keep your secret.
Sometimes it's easier to tell a complete stranger. Someone who has absolutely no expectations of their relationship with you. Someone who doesn't feel the need to say anything at all when you open up your mouth and speak. Someone whose reaction doesn't cause you worry. Someones whose feelings you feel no need to spare.
You give them bare facts without embellishments, the essence of every hurt, the freedom of every tear, the anger that you don't quite know how to express. You allow yourself to become vulnerable, opening up every door you've ever locked to let them see a glimpse of what's truly inside.
And then as quickly as you found yourself sitting in a room with a complete stranger telling her most of everything you've ever wanted to say, you suddenly go back to being silent. Like you cleared your plate after the meal was over, pushed yourself away from the table and went about business as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
You didn't solve the worlds problems. You didn't even really solve your own. You simply let them breathe for a short while, and then returned them to the same exact place you'd been sheltering them for years. Holding on to them like precious jewels, valuables you didn't want to give away, refusing to let them go in a direction that did not take you along for the ride.
You did more damage to yourself willingly than the damage you could not control. Sanctioning it as safety and not the true case of neglect it turned out to be. You cannot forget yourself no matter how hard you try... And forgiving yourself some days seems all but impossible.
Bright lights however have a habit of shining. Beacons that call you forth from the ever present gloom. Moments when the world around you is so much bigger than the environment you've created. Times that call upon every ounce of strength you have to think of something more than just yourself while presenting the opportunity to find yourself all the same.
And you decide that inspiration doesn't always come in a pretty package with a red satin bow. Inspiration can grow like a flower watered by loss, in a body that still breathes for a second chance. And you stop waiting for someone else to hold your hand and lead the way, taking that first difficult step all on your own.
You say to yourself no more excuses. No more reasons why you won't. And you begin to list all the reasons why you can, why you will, and why you won't fail yourself this time around.
Because the truth is, you don't need to hide.
Sometimes something needs to be said so loudly that the only way to contain it is to silence it completely from the outside world. You shelter it as if it needs protection. You give it plenty of space to call its own, but somewhere along the way you sacrifice yourself to keep your secret.
Sometimes it's easier to tell a complete stranger. Someone who has absolutely no expectations of their relationship with you. Someone who doesn't feel the need to say anything at all when you open up your mouth and speak. Someone whose reaction doesn't cause you worry. Someones whose feelings you feel no need to spare.
You give them bare facts without embellishments, the essence of every hurt, the freedom of every tear, the anger that you don't quite know how to express. You allow yourself to become vulnerable, opening up every door you've ever locked to let them see a glimpse of what's truly inside.
And then as quickly as you found yourself sitting in a room with a complete stranger telling her most of everything you've ever wanted to say, you suddenly go back to being silent. Like you cleared your plate after the meal was over, pushed yourself away from the table and went about business as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
You didn't solve the worlds problems. You didn't even really solve your own. You simply let them breathe for a short while, and then returned them to the same exact place you'd been sheltering them for years. Holding on to them like precious jewels, valuables you didn't want to give away, refusing to let them go in a direction that did not take you along for the ride.
You did more damage to yourself willingly than the damage you could not control. Sanctioning it as safety and not the true case of neglect it turned out to be. You cannot forget yourself no matter how hard you try... And forgiving yourself some days seems all but impossible.
Bright lights however have a habit of shining. Beacons that call you forth from the ever present gloom. Moments when the world around you is so much bigger than the environment you've created. Times that call upon every ounce of strength you have to think of something more than just yourself while presenting the opportunity to find yourself all the same.
And you decide that inspiration doesn't always come in a pretty package with a red satin bow. Inspiration can grow like a flower watered by loss, in a body that still breathes for a second chance. And you stop waiting for someone else to hold your hand and lead the way, taking that first difficult step all on your own.
You say to yourself no more excuses. No more reasons why you won't. And you begin to list all the reasons why you can, why you will, and why you won't fail yourself this time around.
Because the truth is, you don't need to hide.
Stuck In the Middle
Fear can make you stop dead in your tracks. And you stand still, hoping no one will notice that you've stopped while all the world continues on around without you. You learn to imitate its motions, going so naturally with the flow that you almost feel as if you could still be moving. So you begin to believe that being alive is half truth and half compromise. You give up what you have given up on. And you tell yourself that you can live like this, for a day, a month, a year, until you prove that you can regardless of how much you don't want to.
You think in some small way this makes life that much easier. To throw in the towel and wash your hands of the whole affair. To pretend you are who you always were and that nothing has changed you. But it has been years since you have been yourself and even longer since you have recognized your own face in the mirror.
You learned how to be defeated. To give up your dreams freely rather than allow for even one to be stolen. You blamed yourself for having too much confidence, too much pride. So you left yourself with none to even out of the score.
You gave yourself a rigid line of rules and held yourself straight and learned how to lean without bending. To say just enough without saying anything at all. To pretend not to understand while understanding more than they could ever know. You gave them all what they wanted, exactly what and whom they expected to see, fooling them all with the simple act of holding your tongue, knowing what words to keep and which words to say...
And you wait, preparing yourself, thinking maybe yes, this time you'll be brave enough to say exactly what you mean. Maybe then you'll understand how to cross the bridge and gain some distance.
You think in some small way this makes life that much easier. To throw in the towel and wash your hands of the whole affair. To pretend you are who you always were and that nothing has changed you. But it has been years since you have been yourself and even longer since you have recognized your own face in the mirror.
You learned how to be defeated. To give up your dreams freely rather than allow for even one to be stolen. You blamed yourself for having too much confidence, too much pride. So you left yourself with none to even out of the score.
You gave yourself a rigid line of rules and held yourself straight and learned how to lean without bending. To say just enough without saying anything at all. To pretend not to understand while understanding more than they could ever know. You gave them all what they wanted, exactly what and whom they expected to see, fooling them all with the simple act of holding your tongue, knowing what words to keep and which words to say...
And you wait, preparing yourself, thinking maybe yes, this time you'll be brave enough to say exactly what you mean. Maybe then you'll understand how to cross the bridge and gain some distance.
Compelling Is the Need To Be Funny
I am feeling the need to be serious coming on, but today, at this exact moment in time, I am more willing than not to overlook this need in favor of another.
Life after all cannot be completely serious from one minute to the next. Not if you want to have anything close to being considered a sense of humor and now that Ron has elected my blog for a status of reward based on the fact that he reads me and finds me funny (at least upon occasion) it puts all sorts of pressure on a girl to maintain the status quo.
I'm not sure I can do forced funny though. I mean if you're trying too hard to do anything, funny included, you end up being everything but the funny you meant yourself to be and you wind up being very unfunny, uninteresting, single, depressed and wondering why the only men who seem to be interested in you are the ones that make the idea of becoming a lesbian a viable option.
Life after all cannot be completely serious from one minute to the next. Not if you want to have anything close to being considered a sense of humor and now that Ron has elected my blog for a status of reward based on the fact that he reads me and finds me funny (at least upon occasion) it puts all sorts of pressure on a girl to maintain the status quo.
I'm not sure I can do forced funny though. I mean if you're trying too hard to do anything, funny included, you end up being everything but the funny you meant yourself to be and you wind up being very unfunny, uninteresting, single, depressed and wondering why the only men who seem to be interested in you are the ones that make the idea of becoming a lesbian a viable option.
So thanks to Ron for stressing me out! At least I know Connecticut is close by and I can still get married should I ever decide to go girl...
(Time out for a moment of seriousness... As a liberal democrat, I do believe that same sex couples should have equal rights under the laws of our land to marry. It may not be a popular opinion, but it's mine and I believe our America was built on the belief of being fair, free and equal for all and not just for some. If I ever run for a goverment office, you can bet I'll run on a ticket that is as honest as the day is long... And just to prove it, I have smoked weed and I would have been a complete moron had I not inhaled!)
Now back to trying to be funny...
Therefore if my blog is no longer funny, know this, I blame Ron. Say it with me now, "It's all Ron's fault from Troubled Ramblings with his award giving ways."
Funny however had me in stitches yesterday when my local library called me at my office to let me know we had an overdue. Or as I should really say that KC, the girl who doesn't like to read like her Mother likes to read, and shouldn't be allowed to take more than one book out from the library at a time without signing a promissory note to actually read it when she gets it home, has an overdue book that needs to be returned.
And so I asked the librarian as I am wont to ask questions when a question must be asked, "Could you tell me the title of the book that needs to be returned?"
Now librarians are normally pretty quick on their game being as they deal daily with a whole lot of black and white issues, and so I was a bit surprised when she paused, in this really big sort of dramatic pause kind of way and said, "I'd tell you that I love you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Oh yes, I tell you there is a God in heaven and I've little doubt he made this moment just for me. Because you know that I know that there is no way I'm going to resist the opportunity for making the most out of any moment where the punchline has been willingly supplied from the innocent and unsuspecting.
I beamed a smile across my face, sat forward in my chair, my elbows propped up on the edge of my desk and replied, maybe a little too eagerly now that I think about it, "Wow. I had no idea you felt this way." Letting the moment hang there just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable in a completely funny (see Ron, still funny) kind of way before letting her off the hook and saying "I take it that's the title of the book..."
(Time out for a moment of seriousness... As a liberal democrat, I do believe that same sex couples should have equal rights under the laws of our land to marry. It may not be a popular opinion, but it's mine and I believe our America was built on the belief of being fair, free and equal for all and not just for some. If I ever run for a goverment office, you can bet I'll run on a ticket that is as honest as the day is long... And just to prove it, I have smoked weed and I would have been a complete moron had I not inhaled!)
Now back to trying to be funny...
Therefore if my blog is no longer funny, know this, I blame Ron. Say it with me now, "It's all Ron's fault from Troubled Ramblings with his award giving ways."
Funny however had me in stitches yesterday when my local library called me at my office to let me know we had an overdue. Or as I should really say that KC, the girl who doesn't like to read like her Mother likes to read, and shouldn't be allowed to take more than one book out from the library at a time without signing a promissory note to actually read it when she gets it home, has an overdue book that needs to be returned.
And so I asked the librarian as I am wont to ask questions when a question must be asked, "Could you tell me the title of the book that needs to be returned?"
Now librarians are normally pretty quick on their game being as they deal daily with a whole lot of black and white issues, and so I was a bit surprised when she paused, in this really big sort of dramatic pause kind of way and said, "I'd tell you that I love you, but then I'd have to kill you."Oh yes, I tell you there is a God in heaven and I've little doubt he made this moment just for me. Because you know that I know that there is no way I'm going to resist the opportunity for making the most out of any moment where the punchline has been willingly supplied from the innocent and unsuspecting.
I beamed a smile across my face, sat forward in my chair, my elbows propped up on the edge of my desk and replied, maybe a little too eagerly now that I think about it, "Wow. I had no idea you felt this way." Letting the moment hang there just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable in a completely funny (see Ron, still funny) kind of way before letting her off the hook and saying "I take it that's the title of the book..."
My Take On Political Debates
In other words, everything you've already heard before. Like on the night of the first debate. Repeated once more during the VP cross exam. And now, one more time in a new format with the same questions and yes, even the same answers.
And all I have to say is one thing and one thing only...
Somebody wake me in November so I can cast my vote.
And all I have to say is one thing and one thing only...
Somebody wake me in November so I can cast my vote.
What I Meant To Say Was...
I'm self editing tonight. Writing a few lines, backing them up and erasing them rather than letting them hit the page with whatever force they're meant to carry. It's always much easier to think of things I want to say when I'm nowhere near a keyboard.
I do some of my best thinking while behind the wheel. And of course, the best thoughts are the thoughts you can't write down. And if you can't write it down, chances are by the time you find yourself with a pen in hand and a pad of paper in front of you, you can't remember whatever it was you wanted to say to begin with.
I keep meaning to drive with a tape recorder. Then again I hate the sound of my own voice so I imagine I might spend the entire time critiquing myself for sounding like a chipmunk rather than concentrating on recapturing my thoughts while I listen to me being me in mid-thought.
Still I wish I could remember whatever it was I was thinking about this morning while the windshield wipers washed away the rain, and the music on the radio was just the right song to get me in the right mood to say something so profound that I almost forgot I was driving.
Maybe I'm just upset because I went into Barnes and Nobles yesterday and walked out without a single book. In all my life, I've never gone in and come out empty... And I'm still trying to understand how it's even possible that there wasn't a single thing that tempted me enough to buy it and bring it home.
Could it be I'm losing my ability to find the right book at the right time, the one I'm supposed to read just when I need to read it most? Has my right touch gone wrong? Have bookstores denounced me as a traitor for my defection to the local library where books are free to read, enjoy and return within a limited amount of time?
I do some of my best thinking while behind the wheel. And of course, the best thoughts are the thoughts you can't write down. And if you can't write it down, chances are by the time you find yourself with a pen in hand and a pad of paper in front of you, you can't remember whatever it was you wanted to say to begin with.
I keep meaning to drive with a tape recorder. Then again I hate the sound of my own voice so I imagine I might spend the entire time critiquing myself for sounding like a chipmunk rather than concentrating on recapturing my thoughts while I listen to me being me in mid-thought.
Still I wish I could remember whatever it was I was thinking about this morning while the windshield wipers washed away the rain, and the music on the radio was just the right song to get me in the right mood to say something so profound that I almost forgot I was driving.
Maybe I'm just upset because I went into Barnes and Nobles yesterday and walked out without a single book. In all my life, I've never gone in and come out empty... And I'm still trying to understand how it's even possible that there wasn't a single thing that tempted me enough to buy it and bring it home.
Could it be I'm losing my ability to find the right book at the right time, the one I'm supposed to read just when I need to read it most? Has my right touch gone wrong? Have bookstores denounced me as a traitor for my defection to the local library where books are free to read, enjoy and return within a limited amount of time?
Maybe I just need to go back this weekend and try again. Me, the bookstore, my gift card, and a few quality hours to browse, sounds like a pretty good plan.
