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Saturday, Mar. 20, 2004 / 2:50 a.m. ~Vernal and Changing~ I wonder how many epiphanies a person can have in one 24 hour period. How many times can a person be absolutely sure that this is the way it is, it is like THIS, and then later decide it is actually quite like THIS instead? How many times can up be down and down be up, and everything be as horrible as it can possibly be, with no way out, no options, no exclusions, no excuses, no reasons for any of it but that's the way it's going to be, and then it's suddenly not any of the above? No, suddenly the future is imagined, wishes are made, fingers are crossed, hopes are no longer dashed, they're dotted, and they have smiley faces over the vertical letters, the letters with tops, like they need something there and it might as well be something happy and symbolic. It might not even be so sudden, it make take one whole day of frowning so hard it starts to hurt a bit, one whole day of wearing a scowl that hangs on the ground when walking, not looking people in their eyes because why would they want to see me/you/her/him/it anyway? Is it about me? I was a bear, and during those times, those bear times, if someone said, "Hey, what's wrong with you, are you okay? What can I do?", and then sat to listen, even offered a shoulder when the tears started to flow, and I had a chance to say, "I hurt, I hurt so bad right now, I hurt to my core", it would be alright again. No, on my own, not quite being able to lean sufficiently on my own shoulders, mopping my tears with tissue after tissue, cats coming to see if I'm okay, if I'll survive to be provider one more day, it's so much more difficult. Why can't anyone get past the whole worse bark than bite scenario? There is no bite, it's all bark, and if you tell me to stop it and reach for the damned muzzle it turns to whimpers of sadness. It's a mask. The scowl is not me, the smile is me, the laughter, the sarcastic wit that seemingly cannot be squelched. The ignoring, the turning inward, that's not me, I'm the extrovert, I'm the one who'll give you the shirt off my back, and more. You have a headache, I'll find you some aspirin, or acetaminophin, or ibuprofin, hell, I'll run to the store and get you a fucking ice pack. Remember the day Jane had the pain in her neck, and it was so bad she couldn't move her hand from the spot, as if holding it there would soon make it go away, it had to? I went home at lunch and got my cold/hot pack I got from the worker's comp clinic, and I brought it back to work, with a bowl from home, and I put it in water, in the bowl, and I heated it in the microwave at work, and I took it to Jane, wrapped it in a towel I also brought from home, and I placed it carefully on her neck. And every time it began to cool I reheated it, I walked to the breakroom, bowl of water in my hands, water swishing around threatening to spill all the way, and I made it hot, watched to make sure it wasn't too hot, just hot enough. And when she had cramps so painful she was doubled over in pain I brought her Kava Kava, and when she said she liked "The Avengers", I got online and bought her a DVD set for Christmas. She never did anything for me but be my friend, but only at work, and only when she was in the mood, and this hurt me so badly I would have entire days where I couldn't even look at her. I thought she hated me, she was deriding me, she was rejecting the friendship I was giving her so freely. I am the same in love. I want to give you everything, I want to know everything you love and make sure you have it, in spades, in clover, in roses, in comfort food, in fluffed pillows. It might be too much. This has yet to be determined. But I have my moods as well, and what is so often not realized is that they are a direct result of yours. I feed off you, I am an empath, I feel your anger, I feel your doubt, I feel your pain, I feel your loathing, I feel your fear, I feel your mistrust. I am naive and child-like, but I feel, and because of the strength, and the sheer impact, I am reacting to it all. I close, I wither, I shut down, I die inside. But I want to be alive. I am a survivor, it is my nature to be hopeful, to spring anew, eternal, to be the rebirth of all the death I die every time. I am born, fresh, after each little death. And all the optimism is there, again, in spite of me, in spite of anything I am determined to feel, and in spite of intellect which seeks to rationalize, and analyze and dissect and wrap up into neat and tidy packages to store in some closet somewhere. It's not that easy. Nothing is so cut and dried, nothing is so clear, it's not black and white, pick your cliche, they're all appropriate here. So it is I feel good again, so it is I am dreaming, and I am hoping and wishing, and I want, I want so much, and I said tonight, "I have to figure out what I am going to be", and I meant it, in that moment of soul searching, and someone trying to tell me what I should do with myself, I had to stop and think that I do need to figure it out, but on my own, or with the right encouragement, from the right source, one who is sincere in the caring. And I need to give what I have to give, I need to love, and I don't want to overwhelm anyone, ever, that is/was never the intention, but know what I am doing, see it for what it is, and take it, and be thankful, and give what you can in return, even if it's a Hallmark fucking card, because we may not have a lot of time to relate as we are, any of us, and there has to be a reason we are all here together. I know what I want, I've always known. I feel it. It is the Vernal Equinox, and it is a global day of protest against the War, and it is the beginning, and it is a day of equal day and night, and it is rebirth and blooming, and affirmation of life and resiliency, and I feel it. It's mine. And it's yours and we should revel in it, and celebrate it, and appreciate all that we are, and that we can change, that life changes, suddenly, and sometimes it takes days. (And, I think I killed a pair of courting bumblebees with my car today - and I know I felt so bad about it) Cost of the War in Iraq
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