If given words, I am armed with my best. Or so I should hope. But words entangle me in a mess messier than any….traditional mess. I’m trying to communicate and be precise to those I know well. I think I’m trying too hard, and it shows. And I see it, as well. It kills when it shows. It kills me too.
I know what I meant. I visualized the concept. But I forget and often am left with the guilt of the forgotten. So easily, I am portraying myself as upset. As crazy. As nonsense, or as lazy. I have my image of me. But dozens exist to serve as misrepresented reflection in the stare and glare of other beings I cannot touch. This is truly why intimacy is so valued. It really is rare, I’m convinced, to be on the same page as your neighbor. To know me or to know anyone, you have to expertly break into the mirrored world of the one you wish to possess.
I wish to possess many at this hour. I want to become one with the soul and speak without fail. And know what they know. The most trying of all tasks. Am I a good gal? Will I be remembered with a collective lie? What is the truth anyways? Let me run this circle until I die.
I want to break the mirror. Into a thousand pieces and I feel much bloodshed will come of it. I want to display all that I am to all that I see. But that’s no good either, now is it? I give away too much and quickly I’m not good enough. Writing as I do is probably fair give away. It’s a decently advertised clue.
I’m a weirdo and I want to be weird with you.
In honor of the countless documentaries I consume on mother nature, I look upon today as a fight for survival. It is the selection for fitness that occurs in these blustery winters. I have the will not to perish. But the desire to go away for a bit. To fade into shadows and stray far from disease-harboring crowds. What makes the task impossible is the need to attend classes and the necessity for jobs and wages. Humans in this climate have not yet taken on the hibernation period our fellow mammals endorse. I sit back and watch when I can have the luxury of indoors the events that unfold in the lives of others. People are fairly sick. Newborns have many problems this time of year. Haven’t we learned to foal in the spring yet??? No? Well, of course not. the scourge of the planet cannot afford a season off. So our offspring get sick. we crowd into small, warm spaces. Dust collects. Life is a struggle.
It makes me sick to speak of it even in blog form. I’m restless. My head is straining from the constant exposure to cold winds and my skin breaks upon itself into sores to bleed. It is much too dry. It is much too unforgiving. The stress wracks my muscles and bones. Every day of beauty snapped up by conditions worse than tolerable. I want to die a million times over on days like this. Because survival is so meaningless at times. Yes, I still question my role. I know well what nature intends for me. But I fear what man intends. I fear what I intend, when my wishes are to disappear. More sleep would do. More comfort would do. Less people would be even better. But we are all busy with survival. Which means driving on slippery streets and also cramming into tight warm places where germ ridden breaths are shared by all. It means dying to survive. To all survive.
I know I’m being cynical. I do indulge on many occasions. I could never hurt a fly. but I see what is unfolding. And I contemplate what it means to accommodate more with less. I suppose it is good to know…..the struggle befalls many. And many will fall who cannot cope. I am coping. But for the purpose of keeping quiet and keeping pulse. When the thaw comes I can only hope…..