Lately, its been that days seem long. I cannot seem to catalog them and my view of the outside doesn't give me a wide lens perspective like it usually does.
There is work to be done, and I summon the effort to sell my best. And I do, for no one man or woman can seem to resist the Irish eyes and a bit of chat. Its all mindless to me for the moment. Inside there is a gymnast tumbling, a contortionist masquerading, and a mime not talking.
'Its a process, its a process.' This thing of life, that is what they say. But to me that talk is cheap. I want it to be a story I can remember of gladly visions and high entertainment, of bawdy laughter and mezmorizing enchantment. Today, I realized my marriage was like a chaotic transient, living on the run for the last seven years. The papers have been printed and I am getting ready to sign. If I could tell you a story of deep love and years of great togetherness, I would be telling you a story of someone else's marriage.
But what high hopes loves gives you. A dear friend told me she is no longer going to be complicit, the other one say's she isn't going to be just 'a nice gal'. "What are you going to be they ask?" as if I should have a clue to what they are speaking of, its not Halloween ladies. Its life, and I would rather just be me and fall into life and live it than have to define the cracks on the sidewalk. Or have someone check my palm and assure me I am alright. It all seems so absurd to me, this constant I and me and who and you.
There are cardinals out at night on the sill, they beckon me with their croaky barks. The crab apple is appreciating the soil and my tender care by blooming lucious buds. I can see the black willows at night as they fold themselves up. These are the things that make me want to talk. Last night the thunder set off a beastly symphony, cracking and sparking the sky. This is what I want to observe now, to understand the atmospheric pressures, to get inside the bewilderment of the elements.
Sudden thoughts of despair don't visit often, and I am grateful. There are so many dear things, and so many who have so much less. That in this moment, choosing to see the blessings instead of the bruising that is in my heart has made me a quiet observer of this breathtaking story of life.