A New Book
It's said that change is constant, and to not move with it is to stagnate and die.
Most people, in their one-town wonderworlds where to travel 4 hours away involves a month of planning, see their spheres crack in the wake of small changes to their ordinary lives- a flat tire, a longer traffic light than usual, running out of milk, having to take a detour to a destination, having to park more than 10 meters from the entrance to a store. These small things make enormous waves to most people. They'll bring it up in conversation all day long, or even over the next week.
The things that I consider monumental don't seem to happen to 'Most People' with the same consistancy that they happen to me & mine. Death. Moving house back and forth across the globe. Sudden financial straits. Bombshells of information.
Perception of adjustment. We all seem to be doing so fine. We 'roll with the punches', we acommodate, aclimate, compromise, conform, modify. We accept, we bitch on the move. We don't settle, we don't ever get comfortable. We know that there's more where that last one came from.
We aren't actually 'fine'. We're neurotic, depressed, anti-social. We pile on the busy to keep from collapse. We tell each other the partials, keeping for ourselves the worst. We get animated when we bitch, it seems as though we're truly venting it, getting it out, feeling better in the empathy we're recieving through that conversation. Pereception of adjustment. We're all just doing fine.
Yesterday I drove off away from my son for the second time in his life. I came home to an empty house after that 7 hour drive back. No hugs & kisses, no telling him to eat his meal or brush his teeth. No tucking him in with more snuggles and our usual bed-time routine. There isn't even anything here, really, to show that he was here. I held his pillow for a while, smelling little boy. Strange to sleep alone in this bed, without his sharp little toes in my butt, or his head in my shoulderblades, without being able to pull him close in his dead-to-the-world slumber for a cuddle and kisses on his still-baby-chunk cheeks.
I know this opens up my life for what necessitates his move to Florida anyway- my drive for med school and the bone-wearying workload I have to take on to accomplish it. Somewhere between 12-hour shifts and classwork I will find time to go to the gym and force the weight from my frame, catharsis as well in writing and WoW when I can. I don't want to talk to anyone, or be with anyone.... I like email because it doesn't force upon me the responsibility of an immidiate reaction.
Roll with the punches.
Most people, in their one-town wonderworlds where to travel 4 hours away involves a month of planning, see their spheres crack in the wake of small changes to their ordinary lives- a flat tire, a longer traffic light than usual, running out of milk, having to take a detour to a destination, having to park more than 10 meters from the entrance to a store. These small things make enormous waves to most people. They'll bring it up in conversation all day long, or even over the next week.
The things that I consider monumental don't seem to happen to 'Most People' with the same consistancy that they happen to me & mine. Death. Moving house back and forth across the globe. Sudden financial straits. Bombshells of information.
Perception of adjustment. We all seem to be doing so fine. We 'roll with the punches', we acommodate, aclimate, compromise, conform, modify. We accept, we bitch on the move. We don't settle, we don't ever get comfortable. We know that there's more where that last one came from.
We aren't actually 'fine'. We're neurotic, depressed, anti-social. We pile on the busy to keep from collapse. We tell each other the partials, keeping for ourselves the worst. We get animated when we bitch, it seems as though we're truly venting it, getting it out, feeling better in the empathy we're recieving through that conversation. Pereception of adjustment. We're all just doing fine.
Yesterday I drove off away from my son for the second time in his life. I came home to an empty house after that 7 hour drive back. No hugs & kisses, no telling him to eat his meal or brush his teeth. No tucking him in with more snuggles and our usual bed-time routine. There isn't even anything here, really, to show that he was here. I held his pillow for a while, smelling little boy. Strange to sleep alone in this bed, without his sharp little toes in my butt, or his head in my shoulderblades, without being able to pull him close in his dead-to-the-world slumber for a cuddle and kisses on his still-baby-chunk cheeks.
I know this opens up my life for what necessitates his move to Florida anyway- my drive for med school and the bone-wearying workload I have to take on to accomplish it. Somewhere between 12-hour shifts and classwork I will find time to go to the gym and force the weight from my frame, catharsis as well in writing and WoW when I can. I don't want to talk to anyone, or be with anyone.... I like email because it doesn't force upon me the responsibility of an immidiate reaction.
Roll with the punches.