hungover on many levels I should be asleep. I'm not sure what I said. The sky poured yesterday and so did I. And my listener was kind. Mine, mine, mine :) The sun is coming up orangey pink. He was right. I've already decided. And I think they all know. It's up to me now. It's a matter of time. The women tasked with my soul (what a funny job) told me there's a price to pay. I know that very well. I'm scared because I've always been obsessed with the word enough. Am I good enough? Is there enough left? Is this price going to be more than I'm anticipating? It's a strange conversation I think only women have The cost of being yourself Not even wanting more The cost of the condition of female I wrote to my old floaty friend. She said she learned to do away with self pity. It's odd. I've been thinking about self pity. My significant other said he admired me for doing away with self pity. And when I was sad he reminded me that I don't like to pity myself. Like it's my nature But it's not I learned it And after corresponding with my floaty friend--I realized when I learned it and why I don't think it was an enlightened choice I don't think it's a choice that can be made I think it only happens if you allow yourself to be dark and ugly The fleshy unspeakable dark and ugly And if you survive I think only then, a person can develop a fear of self pity And recognize where it leads to It becomes a familiar trigger that's fun to fondle but never ever pulled Fear and doubt are beautiful if you can learn what to be afraid of and what to doubt |