There is something decidedly perfect about the balanced flavors of a good key lime pie from the zesty zingy bite of the filling, the crunch of the crust and the sweet delight of the whipped cream topping. It makes my heart sing. It is exotic, refreshing and satisfying like no other type of pie. Temptation has no stronger pull and finishes off so completely that there’s never a question of my satisfaction.
I have standards, and a list of ideals and wants but as my teeth sink into bite after bite of this magnificent dessert I realize I am looking for a man who embodies the experience of Key Lime Pie. He should be a bit crusty on the outside, just enough grumble and grouch but once you get through the sweet, tart full bodied explosion of life comes through and is accentuated by just enough soft fluffy bliss that any and everything else pales in comparison to such a finely crafted soul.
Now… to find him.
My whole life I have been beaten to the ground both figuratively and literally and each time I rise, sometimes a little slower than others but I rise. The only thing left inside is the rebellious Fuck You to those who think they’ve bested me.
Fuck you to the teachers and professors who passed judgement. Fuck you to those whose jealousies prevented me from soaring to those friends who’d rather tie my laces together and laugh as I stumble and fall. Fuck you to those who wanted to see me hated. Fuck you and fuck you again to the people who threw me under bus after bus with knives sticking out of my back.
Anger keeps me rolling forward. I’m too tired without that fuel.
Oh this dark, sunless hour of inconvenient activity.
Every now and again I let myself care. I suppose it is that I forgot what the pain of rejection and dismissal feels like so I need to dip myself into those cold waters and swim until my limbs seize up and the breath is squeezed from my lungs and my heart feels as though it wants to burst. Then, the only way to thaw myself is the shower of tears that fall. My rational mind is mostly unaffected it reminds my rather stupid emotive side that it knew better and had warned us. There is not much to do but allow myself the luxury of irrationality from time to time. The checks and balances of my psyche are a strange and marvelous thing. Actions are so important and if a persons words exceed their actions it is time to reconsider who that person is to you. When you love someone, show it. Be kind to them. Treat them gently because life if difficult enough without adding to the burdens of our daily grind. The Beatles sang that you have to hide your love away, and Goethe said *what business of yours is it if I love you* and I wonder anymore if there is truth here or simply too much of the pain that comes with opening yourself to the possibility of…. more.
Every now and again my heart wants to be found special and I mistake interest shown for something it is not… I do not understand why we cannot come with instructions and directions on how to find the parts of another that work in unison with our own. Friends are just as precarious as the desire for lovers. Too often we lose vital parts of ourselves in a quest to be liked. Sometimes we give everything and get nothing not even emotional fulfillment. An expensive lesson to learn… learn it the first time. If you are fortunate enough to meet someone who gives back as much as if not more, love them well.
Try not to be bullied by your heart, it is a drunk, blind fool and will drag you into the gutter of misery and defeat if it can. Sadly, no one will heed these words. People will continue to be reckless and ignorant when it comes to love. But me, I am pretty sure that I am getting tired of the cold waters so much so that I won’t be going to the beach.
The construct of time is everything and nothing.
There are a few small hours in certain days that pass more rapidly than I want.
If I am careful the hours stretch like dough silky smooth willing to give as much as needed. And I knead but am not needed. I have not solved the puzzle of why me and not someone else… there are plenty of others there always are, never fool yourself, never lie. I tell myself little stories of plausibilities and stop my capitualting with sadly simple truths. Actions tell a different story than words ever will.
There is a tender place inside of every living thing, it drives us toward irrational thinking. I pretend I have clad this space in armor and thorns. But in these hours the eyes it does not have peer through the tangle wondering if someone has come to break it free only to be reminded as it presses toward escape by a sharp jab which sends it crashing backward away from the light.
Perhaps I am wrong to cage such a wild beast. I let it run amuck once I cannot say I regret it but I can say that I learned much as a participant observer. So that now when my neurons fire and my pulse dances in my veins I check myself looking for chinks in the chainmail or holes in the thorny hedgerow.
The problem I fear is not so much that there is a beast, but rather it is being tamed. For there is warmth that builds in these hours and it radiates through a frozen core making me want to shed the caging and trim the thorny growth.
The sharp sting of cold air on warm nostrils reminds me I am alive. Twilight blue brings dimension to the world around me sharpening my vision and fine tuning my hearing.
I miss you.
I cannot tell you I miss you, for that would be weakness and betrayal. Mostly in my private conversations between the left and right lobes the determination is that you simply choose to not care ergo I must not care. And yet, I do.
As I lie here in the gloaming the odd rev of an engine on the highway and my breathing are the only sounds that interrupt my transcendental meditation. I reminisce about events that never happened. Earth shattering moments that define love, a gentle caress of fingertips across a forearm, the warmth that fills your soul at a smile from across a room, and the awkward glances and trying not to stare and draw attention because what if they do not feel the same way sorts of moments, moments that never happened.
And the blue changes into a golden glow pushing away the shadows and fantasies. Light beckons me from my reverie and sends my neurons firing in purposeful fashion upon the solid ground that is reality. And that reality is that my emotional yearnings are simply a trite happening for a woman of a certain age and social standing because really I should know better than to believe that love can conquer all.
Love never hurts. Love is all that is good. Love is a gentle emotion that soothes, comforts and heals. Love brings out the best in us as people. Things that hurt are rejection, misunderstanding, being punched in the face… a “broken” heart derived from miscommunication and personal expectations is not a failure of Love it is a part of a growing process. A person either learns how to Love through introspection and examination of self and the responses one makes or they are doomed to a foolish and repetitive pattern of self flagellation wrongly identified and attributed to the wrong emotion. As Shakespeare wrote all those years ago, expectation is the root of all heartache. If you are carrying sadness about expecting the first rush of flirtation to fix you perhaps you need to unpack your own baggage and look at each item you carry with you and realize how these experiences, memories or emotions impact all that you do and how you perceive others.
Today was so full of cobwebs and ghosts that I need to hire a cleaning crew and an exorcist.
I hit snooze time and again my first alarm going off at five in the morning and the last a quarter of seven. Just past sunrise the sky was full of clouds, like those in an Old Master’s painting it was as if Rembrandt, from his heavenly repose, had taken his turn painting the sky for the pleasure of us few mortals who bother to look up.
My mind meanders as I drive and today was no different. The ghosts arrived as I crested the Kent Narrows bridge and I was thinking back to a weekend visit in which my dear friend Rae had stopped by with her three children. Her son Atticus bears a striking resemblance to his late father, my friend, George. I was showing Atticus some Chinese exercise balls and my eyes rested for a moment on his hands, and for that moment they were no longer his hands but those of his father. I remarked upon it and let it pass only to have that memory hit me in the gut. It was followed by the memory of George laughing as he would at my maudlin female upset.
The radio mocked me and save for a gun and two bullets it is still there in my car.
I arrived at work in less than timely fashion, although no more than a few minutes late. The ritual of preparing to work was hurried along by customers requiring help and in forcing me to say the date aloud, reminding me of the loss of my mother’s father. A man whom I believed to have been named Owl. I was 19 when I realized that a misheard moment when I was five years old stretched a lifetime. My Nana in her New York accent said “Oh Al, don’t be silly.” and my ears Heard it as “Oh Owl.” It made me choke up. I could not breathe and the tear sprang unbidden to my eyes. He was a good man. I miss him.
I shall not trouble you with the drama at work but this too colored my day.
Again, the ride home was miles to review not just my day but portions of my life with the possible expectation of overcoming mistakes and maybe living life in better fashion. So many mistakes. I can tell you it is dangerous and difficult to drive with eyes full of tears.
I guess the whole of it is I miss my Owl, my friend, and my unspoiled youth. I cannot resurrect the dead nor can I mend the past and I am not very certain how to sort out my future so that makes me one helluva mess.
I’ve counted every sheep there is followed closely by the cows on ward to tally up the geese and horses and all their farmyard friends before sitting here contemplating between the enumeration of the beasts living in high veld and savannas of Africa or creatures of the forests of North America. Whoever thought the transcendental nature of my thoughts would take me on such a magnificent journey in my quest for sleep?
I have decided that there are certain souls I no longer wish to know. I mean this to apply to future incarnations and time spent in the heavenly realm. I have been watching you here in this existence, studying your behavior and how it impacts me and my behavior and I do not like it, ergo I do not like you enough to want to wander eternity as a soul mate, be ye friend, lover or acquaintance. I am making a physical notation in case I forget when I die that there are as of this moment in time ten of you on this list.
Oddly enough some of you, in this life, I consider to be close to me, but I really do not like the manner in which you have chosen to exist as it is hypocritical and immoral. You choose evil over good time and again. I am far from perfect. So perhaps you would not choose to know me either, but I really do not wish to recycle into another lifetime with some of you. I would rather not reincarnate, but I do not think we are given much choice in this matter. There are at least three of you that I would not mind seeing burn in an eternal hell.