JoannaMary
I took piano lessons from my aunt when I was young. At age 10, I was the 4th child to play at the recital. The three children before me were all under the age of 5. The children after me started at age 6. I can still play the opening part of Fur Elise even though I quit my piano lessons after that recital. The life lesson I learned from this -- although much later in my life -- was don't quit just because you're temporarily humiliated.
"Yikes," screamed the mother, when she was told there was another one in there after the first one came out. "Yikes," she continued screaming, "I can't even take care of one. How can I take care of two?"
"You'll manage," the nurse said. "How could your doctor miss this?"
"I never went to the doctor," the woman said, not so screaming anymore, but still on edge.
"Wow!" the nurse said.
"I guess they were taking care of each other and me when they were in there," the mother said. "I'm sure they'll do that now that they're out. They're two girls, aren't they?"
"Yes," the nurse said, "How did you know?" but the mother didn't answer.
She was already asleep, a slight smile lifting her mouth.
As I come to old age, my life becomes more disordered. In college, my two roommates in a three room suite came into my room in the middle and hang up all my clothes. They did this once a week but by the second day clothing was scattered on every chair, the desk, the bed, the bookshelf. When clothing covered the floor, that's when the cleaning squadron of two went to work. How could my life be more disorderly now as opposed to then? I don't know. If I knew do you think I would live in disorder? No, I would establish order in every arena.
Are you an included one or are you an excluded one? I have this sad feeling you are one of the excluded. So we shall never meet because I am so included I am brimming with it. Too bad. I'm sure you're nice and good and kind but I fear you're a loser. Excluded from everything. Poor dear.
Jim's favorite haunt is his ex-girlfriend's house. He hangs out across the street, trying to peer into the darkened window of her bedroom. He considers himself a ghost. Somehow though, he can't float across the street, enter that window, get into bed with her, cuddle her and soothe her from the inevitable miseries of being alive. His feet are stuck to the ground. Yet she had killed him when she left him. Death is so unfair.
The woman haunted his thoughts for hours. He'd been an artist: he could see her face in clear detail, in technicolor, in moving facial expressions. He couldn't remember where he'd seen her or when. Yesterday? A year ago? Longer? Here in prison? Long ago when he was free? But the show she put on in his brain was intensely welcome and he hoped he'd be lost in it forever.
Don't retreat when wounded. Take another path and push forward. Do not show your enemy you are hurt, cover the trail of blood behind you by brushing a branch of leaves along it, do not worry that you are being followed, for soon you will lead, and get there before your enemy, and ambush him.
My insides lock everything up. What food I eat, what I dream at night, what I love most, what I wish for. On the outside, the world sees sort of crazy, sort of calm, sort of unreliable. How does the world arrive at all that, when everything I am is locked up inside me?
Structurally speaking, which I very rarely do because I don't have a good idea what it means, my house is not all that up to par. The upstairs bathroom leans at a 20 degree angle. Especially if water splashes out of the bathtub you can do a water slide into the toilet. Then, one wall of the guest bedroom is falling down. Whoever, structured this house was not the best structurer. Oh, I think it was me.
My niece watched my sister trying to assemble a bookcase. My sister couldn't figure out much of anything: where the screws went, why were there too many screws, or perhaps, were there not enough? She started verbalizing her frustration. There's nothing so fascinating as watching my sister go crazy. Her 3-year-old daughter watched for awhile, then said, "Mommy, can't you use the destructions?"
writing since 2012 · 161 entries · 154 days shown up
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