On Being Mean

I had a bad day yesterday.  Nothing was wrong, except I hated everything and took it out on someone I care very much about and traffic and to be honest, was legitimately lucky that I didn't get into a car accident. (Trust me, there was plenty of time for it to happen...)

I know that everyone has bad days now and then, for good reason or for none at all, but I am still sorry I haven't figured out how to manage all those things that inevitably start to snowball and end up exploding in an awkwardly guttural yell that leaves the back of my throat itchy and raw for days.

And I am still learning that people are good and true and reliable and all of the things that you don't realize you need until they're sitting in front of you being needed.

It's still hard for me to believe I'm deserving of all the "second chances" that inevitably make an appearance in this life, but maybe now I can slowly realize that I am.

in other news...

I'm pretty lousy when it comes to relationships with significant others. So, I am somewhat confused when I find myself heartbroken over another couple's misfortune. Why? I have no idea. Do I have to know them? Not necessarily, but if I do, it probably makes my heartbreak worse. Am I a sucker for quiet songs in the dark? Do I think every couple that is currently together should get married and be good to themselves?
Mos def.

on quiet confidence

I know people think I really like animals. And I do, for the most part. But it's not because I think they "get me" better than humans, even though I think they can be a lot more honest than we are. For instance, I have never met a skunk that liked me. Mostly, because I have never met a skunk in general, and I think that is an obvious way of realizing if any creature is interested in getting to know you. Several dogs (and even cats) have willingly greeted me and I think they were okay with just a pat or a good scratch behind the ears.
I took one of the shelters dogs out to the park the other day and she seemed to be honestly excited about it. And I know animals don't feel or think or act the same way we do, but I'll be damned if that dog wasn't terribly happy to be there. I'm sure it could have been with anyone, but it made me feel really good that she was rolling around in the grass and snapping her jaws and pawing the air like she did this every weekend.
And sometimes I just wonder what it would be like if we could express our joy as openly as they do. If it would be easier to love each other because we knew what we were getting ourselves into, and we knew that it would be a walk in the park.
I guess there's nothing really Biblical about that, but it is something to think about.

babys

I am reading a new book in the mornings, and it is quite interesting. My table manners have been altered for several years now, but for whatever reason it makes me think that my difference aren`t really that much to brag about. (They aren`t.) In a quest for the unusual and absurd, all I`ve recently found is that I want my branches to shade humans (&huwomans) that maybe aren`t so set on finding all the peculiarities of the world. Maybe they`re just on a quest to provide for their families or buy snow cones from a street vendor. I bet they know more than I do about the wonders of cramped quarters and dead rats and nursing uniforms. I bet.

while we are still humans.

first off, it`s good to know you are still real.
secondly, please don`t be sad any more. we love you!
lastly, even though i am a better listener than them, thanks for always being willing.

on softness

it`s not that i hate children. i really don`t.
but i`ve had my fair share of experiences with them. some times i really just get them. other times...well, we could say that i`m in no rush to "own" any, any time soon, at least.
but i will say that there are some mornings when a little boy wearing superman pajamas, pushing a miniature plastic grocery cart down the sidewalk, papa &sis in tow, and some fairy-headed sprite who insisted on wearing a tutu over her church clothes are just enough of a reminder that we are not so different as i some times think.

we are not sexy or beautiful or rich,
but we are cute.
we are good and we are simple
&we are pure.

we know how many balls are in a strike
strikes outs, hits runs.

corra casa.

cavities.

There was a time in my life when I wrote about my heart's laments in a black, hard bound journal.
I also had a special [non-blogger] blog that held all my adolescent secrets.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Maybe they were secret, but that certainly didn`t mean I didn`t want them to be found. In fact, if I'm honest with myself, if I didn`t want something to be found, why would I have put it on the internet?! Just think about it.
Any way.
I got pretty good at posting cryptic messages about the boys in my life. Or should I say, the boys [I wished were] in my life.
But one in particular had really caught my eye. Nathen with an "e" not an "a" wore a dress shirt and tie to school every day of the 10th grade. Because he "didn`t want to buy uniform shirts, &this was my only option."
What a guy.
Didn`t matter that I was a year older. He was way out of my league.
So in my little online journal, I would practice writing letters that I would never send to this counter-cultured 16 year old.
Fast forward to 5 years later, &through some smiling of the gods, Nathen &I have developed a friendship of sorts. It mostly involves a bi-annual 20 minute phone call, and a few letters here &there. Nothing too demanding. Nothing too promising.
He`ll probably grow up to be some big, hot-shot lawyer somewhere; &I`ll probably be making money writing cryptic poems about him. [I`ve found out I`m pretty good at lying when I write. But I heard they`re calling it fiction nowadays.]
So, if you happen to stumble across a poem that has some love-sick undertones, don`t you worry. I`m just reminiscing on what could have [never] been.
Most likely, it`s for Nathen.

P.S. Please don`t tell him I wrote this.

on [not] being so content

i never really understood all the lines, the frustration, the waiting...
i know, i know, i know...

why she`s better than you. [&me]

965

some times i wear dirty shirts &shoes, out of forgetfullness.
& why is that man still playing fetch with his doberman on the lawn?

w: "i cut my thumb! look!"
[i look. minor injury.]
a: "i think you`ll survive. do you want a band-aid?"
w: "nah. but you know what?"
a: "no, what?"
w: "i like my grandfather`s hands."
a: "what do you like about them?"
w: "i like that they`re old and cut and wrinkled. it`s because he was in the war. i hope mine look like that some day."
a: "they will."

verão

i hope you can hear me way up [and over] there.
i hope you know that for the first time in a long time i am as a lone as the solitary polar bear,
[or the north wood moose]
but you can be assured that they are not spending their time as i ought:
with tea and meatless hotdogs.
&it`s not so much the fact that you are gone,
but that i must remember what it means to be a little more empty,
an ever-trusting soul,
minus indulgent sprees at the gallery & winning the snake`s mouth.

part 3.

with sudsy fingers scrubbing the scalp of a grimy eleven-year old,
she sits back on her heels, with beating heart &thinks:
"yes, yes, i am a live."

I fear that

your presence makes my heart pitter a bit too quickly.
And I have held this caution sign for so long, that perhaps the edges have been worn and dampened.
But if you must handle this cardiovascular muscle of mine, please do so the kindest that you ever have.

me either.

"I no longer feel the awkward obligation to fill silent spaces with mindless self-centered chatter."