Words to the Less-Wise

Sometimes I wonder why I bother with people. The more I see of them, the more I realize how rare and priceless it is to be a mature adult. I owe much to my parents and their having given me a valuable up-bringing. I can be a true citizen of the world without having shame in who I am, what I want to become or how I deport myself on a daily basis. Then there are the run-of-the-mill folks, who have no concern or courtesy for the people around them, throwing out hateful, rude comments with no provocation. Is this what our society has degraded to? A handful of spineless insecure people who have to show their superiority (or lack thereof) by estranging themselves from common decency or respect for their fellow man. Apparently there are those who have not mentally or emotionally left high-school, still finding it the hip thing to make enemies or unnecessarily speak their minds instead of pursuing an ongoing peace with their brethren whenever possible. Unfortunately, it is the lot of those who do not follow that type of behavior to be the outcasts, the squares, the prudes. I disagree. The lesser mortals should be the ones bearing the label; 'short-sighted, proud, insignificant followers'.
And what about communication? What happened to that? When I grew up, it was customary to be in touch with those who were close to you. It was courteous to update those with whom you had plans. Especially if you are running late or have to bail. Don't just leave those peeps hangin'. They're counting on you to keep up with your end of the bargain. Acquaintance is a two-way street. It's an unspoken contract. 'Hi, I know you. we will carpool in the morning to school. If plans change, on my honor, I will let you know.' Or 'yeah, the bar sounds great. Let's meet in 45 minutes.' Living among us are certain individuals who seem to have a mindset that the silent rules do not apply to them, or only when convenient, or only when involving someone-they-like. If you don't call in to work, there will be consequences: you just might lose your job. The same applies for friendship, or any dealing of a social nature. If someone is waiting on you, counting on you, or worse, doing you a favor? Outstep those boundaries too many times and you'll find yourself just a little bit lonelier. Or at least less respected, which is equivalent to emotional non-existence.
It isn't natural to like everyone we meet. Step up and play the polite round, and your odds just went up 82%. It's possible to accept others at face value. It's easy, levelheaded and there are no risks involved. Yet, we tend to be too wrapped up in ourselves and our insecurities, 'what are they thinking about me?', to realize that 1) everyone else is doing just that 2) if we look past ourselves a whole world of mutual giving is out there 3) we will be better people if we just get over what we are going/have gone through and learn something new from someone else. Trust can be painful. Rejection is a normal occurance. But if you don't put yourself out there, as you are, no curtain, no screen, no false projection of a perfect person, the supposed friends that your just made or didn't make, totally just accepted (or rejected) someone that you are going to need lies and props to make believable. If you are honest, at least you know that those around you love or hate you, the real person, flesh and blood, virtues and faults, hopes and misgivings, talents and failures. Ulitmately, it's much much easier than the alternative, and less stressful. In fact, it's downright awesome!

decisions

This week has been hard. It's a long blurred collection of 'what ifs'. There comes a time when one must realize that, even though 'God's will be done' in every circumstance, we have a very real role in how that will is to be manifested. Free choice is a frightening concept. It's like peerless beauty or bottomless wealth; at some point every unworthy recipient has cursed the heavens at his plight. Now, what to do when blunt reason and intuition have a brassy clash? Like mayo and cinnamen on the same sandwich... They don't always work together. And why does this intuitive sense have to resemble so closely the reluctance and laziness to choose something hard? The one skulking deep inside the other, perhaps? An excuse with a well trained emotional cover? But still!! It's not that simple. How does one person make the choice that will not only change but dictate the lives of countless people, some not even born? I'd love to throw up my hands and say, hmm, not my problem. That is utterly ridiculous. If this isn't my nearly-sole responsibility, there never was such a thing. *stands upright, raises chin, struts about in dramatic manner* It is my choice, my call to make, and thus shall I choose. I just don't have an answer right now.

To pass the time...

It's a Saturday afternoon. I'm in a laundromat. I haven't been in many laundromats; maybe three or four, if I was gonna put a number on it. The one time I remember was when our cleaning system went down back at the farm and we had no choice. The other time was on the road and necessity deemed we wash a load for the sake of the youngest, who had managed to soak through the reservoir so carefully prepared by Mom. Nevertheless, I've never been in a laundromat on my own, in a new town, with almost no money. I could remember that the machines only took quarters; that's pretty stock information. But when did it go up to 3.75 a load?! Thankfully there were some double loaders open, so I'm able to wash 2 huge blankets, 2 small ones and a couple pajama pants for $5. Now to wait for the completion of the wash cycle. I was spoiled with free laundry back home. This sucks. I've promised myself that once my bundle of soggy warmth is in the dryer, I can indulge in some aeromatic cancer. Only a few minutes now...
As little as I visit the laundromat scene, I am perpetually amused by the people there with me. The couple that just walked in, for instance; an almost middle-aged construction worker and his wife (or longtime live-in, can't tell which). She was probably termed "one-of-the-boys", smokes incessantly and was most likely a bartender at one point in her life. They take up 6 washers right off the bat; each basket is sorted accordingly: not-so-white-anymore-whites (I think Hanes' brand is most prominent), about three loads of jeans and t-shirts, and the random compilation of leftovers, followed by the heavy canvas jacket. This couple is very at ease with one another, making simple conversation. It's easy to see they compliment each other and have for years. Ha! She's laughing at a silly story he tells her, complete with sound effects. Can't help but wonder how many months have passed since he treated his greying curls to a trim and wash. She was definitely a beauty in college and still keeps up the hilites.
Then there's the loner in the corner by the windows. His jet black hair is thick, but my guess is he's 40 plus about three years. He has no magazine or crossword, but just sits there watching the mechanics of the dryer. The look on his face tells that he's not easily amused, maybe never. Oh, he's leaving, and makes a joke as he passes the single women unloading her basket of towels. I was wrong about the laughing thing. Glad to see him chuckle.
I've been working on some school assignments for the most part of my wait, using markers to color-code diagrams of bone structure. I'm convinced the mexican couple smoking in their teal mercury outside think I'm doing a color-by-number or something.
The cute college chick just came back from tanning to grab her dry laundry. The guy with her is slightly less attractive but looks like good boyfriend material. Now he's putting quarters in the electric arcade machine across for me.
I just noticed the wallpaper border surrounding the top of the room. It's a would-be pastel of an apron, button-up shirt, hand towel, day dress, socks and a pillowcase all flapping dry on a clothesline. I'm also seeing the sign on the washers: push red button before turning handle. Funny thing: the button is silver.
It's 4:30 now and I want to go home and eat. Almost done. But it's so good to write.

I love him. He makes me happy. And it makes my day just to see him smile into my eyes. I am safe and worry-free whenever he holds me; anything I can do to encourage or ease his labors is my first priority. But still: sometimes my mind will tempt me to second guess; to re-evaluate the situation again and again and again. To what end then, is my question. Should I see something not to my liking (which, to be honest, certainly exists. I'm not dating some quirkless saint), would I act upon it, or even make a changing decision based upon that realization? The answer to that is no! I am too happy, too much in love, too much in admiration of the wonderful man I dare to possess. Any little incompatibility or complaint we may have with each other, or rather I with him, seems to petty and minuscule seen next to the pride that floods my heart when I watch his movements and call him mine. There exists a contentment here that brings peace in the too numerous hours absent from his scent and presence.
The next minute, I wonder to myself "How long will it all last?". I'm not so blind to not realize that I am blind, seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Eventually this complete obsession will wear off and become habitual and not so appreciated. I know this. Ignoring it isn't helpful in avoiding it. However, which if any of the "little nothings" I put aside now as being puny and inconsequential will rise up and fuel the very battle I would rather didn't know where to find us? Could it be that flowers, walks and talks, jazz and dancing are so important that someday, I will never let it rest?? Who knows how long it will be before I awake and tell myself "what I have isn't good enough, I could have done better for myself, stick to your own kind" only to find that perhaps it is too late an epiphany. To over-analyze is a habit and a vice not to be enslaved by. But God forbid (and I'm embarrassed to even write this) that I sell myself short. Not because he isn't worth every ounce of my affection and substance, but for the fact that he may not be entirely right for me, forever. Then I slap myself, for how can such a thing be true that my love for him, which is immense, be over-powered by time!!!

Pardon me my tears. I just tired, so tired; I'm tired of chasing after something that is not humanly attainable. Sick of following something, wanting only that something, or someone rather, that is indifferent to my pursuit. Too impatient to wait customarily for that too-good-to-be-true moment, grasping and grappling for the half-assed but expected day when everything is beautiful. So, because it starts out with my lashes brushing open against your chest; I feel your breath on my forehead, your hand fitting perfectly between my waist and hip. And I wake just moments before you; so easy to relish the subconscious affection of the unconscious. Knowing throughout, that tomorrow will present no news of you, except what I salvage myself. Which leads me to the frustration of loving someone who cannot remember my existence unless I am standing beside him, to want and somehow not be wanted. I can take everything else: recklessness, anger, incessant teasing, impatience, man-handling, ridicule, even inconsistency. what I cannot stand, will not stand, or stand by is someone who forgets. About me, about us, about everything but himself. I have hoped against reason and experience that such is not your case. But time whispers it in my ear every passing day you neglect me, "Go home, weary follower. Wait there for a man, one ready to take all of you, put it in a satchel and carry it with him everywhere, regardless of the extra pressure, inconvenience, strain, pain and cost. Such is a being worthy of you. Save your heart for him." When a person loves, the expression of it is not truly in a kiss, words of admiration, caresses, sex: it is in sacrifice that love manifests itself. Nothing will hold that type of love inside; trapped or hidden, never. Unnoticed, it's possible, but perfectly visible to the naked eye. And hurtfully lacking when someone says - I love you - and doesn't mean it.

Reconsiderations

I want to share with you.
Not just one thing; EVERYTHING!

I want a share in your ideas, your frustrations, your dreams, your doubts and insecurities, your time, your air, your loves, your bed, your LIFE..
There is something so unique about you; I can't get enough. I thought I could cut you from my world, but every time I would dig the knife deeper and deeper, glorying in the pain, shortness of breath and glistening blood; then I would see you, hear your voice, read your words and through some healing power, the bleeding stops, the flesh reconnects itself, leaving only a scar, starring temptingly to be re-awoken, marking territory that should just be left alone. But always there to remind me of you, bringing my soul to what had been, what was accomplished: what was permanently imprinted therein. Your name has found a resting place there, a comfortable home, not to be thrown out one sunny spring day.
Sketched as indelibly as ink could muster, going deeper; as steel spokes, pulsating and turning, even as my heart daily beats itself to death for ever letting you go.

Smoke, grey disperses in wisps
of wistfulness,
clouding an already misty mindset.
Dreading the necessary,
hopelessly hoping all will be well;
preparing for a sudden stop.
Mull over mistakes past,
look back to wrong.
Unready for the hurt to come,
and not even for myself so much.
Easy enough to live without,
painful to say no.
Set an ultimatum,
reek havoc in disgust.
Dissatisfaction plain
status unsure.
Coordinating the heart,
aligning the mind,
bring two together,
even as we part ways.
Take a break, release you,
to save you from losing me.
Patience useful, doubtful,
frightening, images of
a world without you.