'Inevitable human drama'
Thank you for letting me be possessed by everything all at once and not being able to stop my feet and all the winding streets to run through and the broken shoe and chopin's funeral march for a touch of the absurd Thank you for the weariness and the deep breathing sleep Thank you for the words and the thoughts that mercifully appeared to frame it and in doing so conquer it Thank you for the patient ear that I don't feel like I deserve when there are so many people without love Thank you because I worry I'm not alive when I'm not worrying --- I'll try to feel it all unfiltered. --- Why is it that when all I want to do is control and make it better and fix it--I ought to step back; and when I want to run away and pretend it's not happening--I ought to stick it out and fight? I've never in my life experienced an opportune challenge. I've never said/thought/felt, 'WOOHOO! A problem! Phew, I was starting to get really bored and worried-- I just can't wait to fix this clusterfuck!' Is that what it means to be a Type A? I can usually empathize with most people but the closest thing I've felt to Type A is probably a demonic urge to finish Sudoku/Anagram Puzzles/Crosswords/Nothing worthy of any respect or monetary appreciation Or even worse, the urge to fix people. That awful condescending ruinous urge to make it all better right now because obviously I know better about everything and obviously this person will die and you know what it'll be my fault for not being the hero who is so obviously needed in this situation. And I know that this is what the urge is based on but when the urge arises that ridiculous fail-safe monologue that's supposed to keep me from being a meddling asshole fades away into white noise and I just feel like I'm a retired pacifist politician watching a war on television. How much of what you do can you justify? I feel like for me, everyday it's less and less --- My friend did one of the cruelest acts I can think of. It was like cold lightening through my body when he told me. I felt like I didn't know him, I felt like I never knew him. And I turned into a sanctimonious monster because I love him, and because love is the mother of hypocrisy, I could accept it any one else but him. And it snowballed. And I hurt him just so he'd feel the other end of what he'd done. And I hate what I did and I want to be sorry but I'm not. |