me.
I'm a mess of a man sometimes, lashing out, angry. I can't control my mood swings from day to day, minute to minute. I spit harsh comments I don't (could never) really mean. I have such little patience with myself and with others, all too often. When there's a railing or branch-like object overhead, I want to hop up and grab it, and just hang on. like a kid. careless. I've accumulated debt. and I'm gathering up loss 'cause it's nearly winter and I don't ever want anyone close to me to really know the reasons I tend to get so sad so unexpectedly.
a baby was born recently, the youngest of two, and she came into the world 20-something weeks early. she's eating, and breathing, on her own-- except for when she lays still for 30 seconds at a time, setting off alarms all throughout the hospital.
Or maybe the alarms are localized, not all throughout the hospital as I imagine. maybe she's insignificant in comparison to the other people who occupy the full sized, articulated hospital beds. I don't know, will never know, because she'll be long gone-- either having survived and tiny in my little sister's arms while my father looks on, detached and sorrowful, or just dead-- before I even get the chance to hold her.
things get harsh, i guess.
and we tend not to think of them as such when surrounded by others.
but the myriad of things that make up the last several years of our lives-- what do they mean if loss and worry isn't interwoven into all that happiness?
I picture a loom, the size of the world, the design being woven so complex that i could never possibly discern the children slaughtered in Darfur from the winter my Father finally bought me the Dallas Cowboys Starter brand jacket that I had wanted so badly despite never having watched an actual football game. I can't separate the twin towers from my barely-born niece, or all the inches that have melted from the ice caps since my birth from the look on my mother's face when i left for california.
but we keep living and loving, don't we?
I'm sorry that i don't seem as enthusiastic as I used to but I really am...honest.
xoxoxo
a baby was born recently, the youngest of two, and she came into the world 20-something weeks early. she's eating, and breathing, on her own-- except for when she lays still for 30 seconds at a time, setting off alarms all throughout the hospital.
Or maybe the alarms are localized, not all throughout the hospital as I imagine. maybe she's insignificant in comparison to the other people who occupy the full sized, articulated hospital beds. I don't know, will never know, because she'll be long gone-- either having survived and tiny in my little sister's arms while my father looks on, detached and sorrowful, or just dead-- before I even get the chance to hold her.
things get harsh, i guess.
and we tend not to think of them as such when surrounded by others.
but the myriad of things that make up the last several years of our lives-- what do they mean if loss and worry isn't interwoven into all that happiness?
I picture a loom, the size of the world, the design being woven so complex that i could never possibly discern the children slaughtered in Darfur from the winter my Father finally bought me the Dallas Cowboys Starter brand jacket that I had wanted so badly despite never having watched an actual football game. I can't separate the twin towers from my barely-born niece, or all the inches that have melted from the ice caps since my birth from the look on my mother's face when i left for california.
but we keep living and loving, don't we?
I'm sorry that i don't seem as enthusiastic as I used to but I really am...honest.
xoxoxo