why is life sad? for one thing, i always seem to be on the way and never get there. the now usually escapes me; living in my head. pain itself seems to happen on a schedule all its own, never consulting me about times of arrival.
i don’t want to be seen as a complainer. but the alternative is to never speak. how do you make happy without sad? intelligence is going to be relative, so i only look as far as my own beginnings. world seems to be in a rather large chaotic flux. how do you help something that won’t sit still?
each day is supposed to be THE day, where i finally follow the best diet, sing the best songs, live the best dreams. back burners pile up, and part of me keeps wondering what a stove is for…. how do i stay sane when cooking is all about making something fit for conditions; when it is all about change.
i try to muddle along and keep things simple. then part of me tangles it all up. complexity becomes a goal rather than fostering simple hopes in a direct result. and even though i know it is better to stay silent, i worry onward in a swamp of words. no closer to where i want to be…. which is what? so i wake up and get up. make coffee because that is what you do. sit in a favorite chair, because something must be selected. what i want is to not make the same mistakes.
love for me, is in not holding grudges. poison to the soul, better to have a clean slate. i do like fixing things, probably because that’s what dad did. no matter where i have been in life, the mechanic is a person respected. in computing, it’s called trouble shooting. the same thing…. you narrow down the probabilities and twist a wrench just so. invention and creation also part of the puzzle.
repetition. to get lost in repeating. yet rhythm is a blessing in its own way. i note lives and their paths. for the most part, it is the time i have spent at rest homes that gave me the most grief and the most hope. when people are weak, they can be happy you are strong.
i don’t want to be strong, but seems i have had no choice. even asking for help goes against some fundamental belief or creed that … if not part of me, is glued on pretty tight. see i know that the neighbor lady feels ok to knock on my door if she needs an onion. or her husband knocks if she needs some aspirin. but i don’t knock on any doors.
it is just that i am happy i got the plants watered yesterday. i am glad i will be able to get the carpets cleaned for only $45. i am sad that a friend at church has cancer. she is a teacher and i understand teachers the best. mainly i think it is because we all have dents in our heads, from beating them against too many walls. yet my time working at teaching was only a small part of an extremely varied resume. always moving on.
always on the way to something. i get practical and then think the only real destination is death. and that isn’t a particularly warming consideration. because i still haven’t figured out if it’s more comforting to think about life going into simply nothing. or is it better to think of life as never ending. i could never decide. can never decide. when i do decide, it doesn’t help in any way.
the daily work to maintain strength. that is what i circle on. it is dismaying to see that being weak is the better social option. working together is the better answer… for the soul. not that being alone is bad, but maybe is unnecessary. they say everybody has their demons and angels. mine have always been silent, standing in horror and misunderstanding…. while i fight myself. i have learned that finality is not always appropriate.
how much coffee does it take to start the day? enough so i can sit and begin a gradual awakening. it is that parcel of time where back burners don’t matter. all that matters is i can still laugh at myself, wanting to be important. waiting to be important.
how does the spirit fly? first you have to look up, then have to realize there is ground and air. happy and sad. life and death. the play of opposites with our own personal pendulums, beating out time. and for me, that time is defined by the rest. by the in between. by the moment you look down, and don’t even remember flapping your wings.