|
Saturday, Oct. 30, 2004 / 3:10 a.m. ~A New Analogy, Involving Camels This Time~ Should I say, I hate it when I'm right? Should I say, I knew it? Or should I say, trust no one? Should these be declarative statements, not questions at all, not especially rhetorical? We know the answer here. This is the way it's going to be. One might ask, Why? Why then? Why is this, this person's manifest destiny, such as it is? What went wrong? Was there some sort of misfiring somewhere along the way? And does it get worse from here on out, until the end? Bleak, so very bleak, and so very very melodramatic, but right now, middle of the night, though it is still so dark in the mornings, let's consider this the darkest hour. Not yet just before the dawn, no, let's call it now. Let's check out the lint in the navel this time. Ah, there is none, it's squeaky clean, but upon further gazing there is the detritus of one more failed attempt. And though I'm numb already, though I saw this coming from a hundred miles away, not just one, I still feel it. I feel it for the failure it is. And for the angle, for the online nature of the beast. Oh, it was real, and one was let inside, and doors were opened, and there was a lot of talking and joking and saving, rescuing, there was even a bit of Knight in Shining Armor action, and though that part was only days ago it feels like a lifetime. It never happened. I think I called a tow truck, I think I paid $150 total for Goodyear to fix it, including the new battery. There was no holding of a flashlight in the dark parking lot, there was no gracious appreciative embrace, there were no smiles, there was no celebratory dinner and welcoming of new person into my home. No, the cats didn't meet anyone new and wonderful, he's all wrong, he always was and he was never here nor I there and none of it happened, and someone, someone needs to stop me before I do it again. I can't keep doing it. I'm at a point now where it's just too much, I'm too old, none of this is worth it. It seemed propitious, it seemed fortuitous, it seemed like something special, something possibly even 'meant to be', but the difficulties were insurmountable, as always, as difficulties are. That's why the divorce rate is so high. No one wants to surmount. It's all insurmount this and insurmount that, and irreconcilable and can't work it out and can't and run, run, run, run. We have our criteria, our internal lists, and we're checking off each item with a pen, a red ink pen, no erasers around, it's permanent ink. You make the cut or you don't. "I won't do this", "I won't do that", "I don't want to know this", "I don't want to know that", and no and no, and okay, maybe, but no, no, no, oops, forget it. Game over GAME OVER. So it was a game? Ah, figures. And I accuse myself of being the child? I am the grownup, always have been. Even when a child. Now as an adult, because of childlike fancies, because of the joy of simple things, I'm seen as the child, I'm ignored, I'm reprimanded, I'm avoided, best not seen, not heard, best tucked away somewhere one can forget about. She's not even there, the little girl, this is the preferred. But I am the adult and I play the childish games up to a point. Then I back out. I never want to lose though, I never want to let go, I'm the last to know, I'm the last to give in. Oh, I back out, but I'm last. I'm still holding on, "Hey, where did ya go?"... Gone, daddy, gone. It's a blip in the time space continuum, and I'll survive, but man, the walls are going up all over again, and they weren't even down too far yet. I picture a group of Mexican laborers working past sunset, laying beautiful flagstone after beautiful flagstone, in amazing patterns, columns between sections, just like the wall I drove by last night on my way to vote. Yes, vote, let's change the subject. For there are far more important topics in the world than who wants to fuck me over and who wants to fuck me over. Other than who wants to fuck me, then fuck me over. My personal favorite there. Fuck me, fuck me over, it's all the rage. I can handle it. But I'm still asking why. I'm still looking at the framed photos of my mother on the wall in front of me, and her mother, her mother's mother and father, and me as an infant, finger playing with my ear, swaddled in Christening gown. I'm looking and I'm asking Why? What is this for? For what purpose? What have I done? Why is this what it is? Why must I go through this? Is there some grand scheme? And will the answers one day be revealed? And the ever popular, How could you? Along with one more loud, WHY? It was all wrong, I tell myself, it could not have been more wrong. And my tolerance was tested. I held fast, but I could hold on no more, a straw broke some proverbial camel's back and in the crying out in pain process I lashed, as I am wont to do, and he reads the lashing, and this is the last straw on his own pack animal's back, and suddenly we have two camels kneeling in the sand, and the captain tells us, "We must shoot them!", and I say, "NO, wait, please!", while he says, "Give me the gun", and does the deed himself. I'm left with my mouth hanging open, tears streaming down my cheeks, hot in the desert sun, no way home now. No transport, no way to carry all that baggage. Our metaphor lies on the hot desert sand, waiting for nightfall's cold to cement it there. I keep moving. I'll stand still for a bit, maybe two whole days, and then I'll function, it will be as it should be. Living must be earned, way must be paid, and that will be that. There is no future here. There is only the now that shifts shapes, that constantly changes with the seasons, and the disposable people, all of us like he said, "disposable". I'm disposable. And invisible, and a child, and to most, I simply do not exist. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |