High Pressure W…

I was supposed to make a wish and blow, but everyone’s eyes were on me and all I could think of was getting the obligatory office birthday ordeal over with as soon as possible. So it wasn’t until my co-worker asked me what I wished for that I realized I had forgotten. Apparently I don’t do well in high pressure wishing situations. So if I HAD made a wish it would only have been that I might better know what I ought to wish for.

I also didn’t prepare a pop tart answer ahead of time. So I mumbled something about not liking to make wishes and felt the gulf between us, grow even wider. I guess what I wanted to say, was that the annual wishing tradition seems hallow to me. If it’s worth wishing for, isn’t it worth praying for? Because it seems to me, given a choice between the two lotteries, that praying might offer better odds than wishing. So I imagine I can do that birthday candle or not, with bunches more time to choose.

Remind me to be call in sick on my birthday next year.

Judgemental

She has proven herself very unpleasant. And she is also incredibly unattractive. She lacks any creative ability whatsoever, and her resemblance to Jaba The Hut leads me to believe she isn’t athletic either. In addition to that, I have a very hard time deciphering any reasoning capabilities she might possess. But because I believe that every yen has a yang, it hits me that she might be mine. Oddly, this makes me happy. It reassures me that there might be some divine reason behind our complete inability to get along. Liking eachother is completely out of my control. Therefore I’m not responsible for the urge to come to work early when I’m sick, just for the chance to lick her phone, pencils, and mouse.

I stare at her sometimes, examining…

She surely seems devoid of any redeeming qualities. It’s amazing. I truly see none. If she IS my yang, she must surely possess SOMETHING good that I don’t and that I can’t even guess at. Organizational skills? Short term memory? The ability to be satisfied perhaps? These things elude me.

So as I speculate about what traits she might possess that would make BEING her bearable, it occurs to me that I might have made a grievous error assuming that being so dreadfully dimwitted would at all inhibit her ability to be fullfilled. In fact stupidity might lend an advantage toward personal satisfaction. Is it possible, even probable that she is happier dumb? Maybe HER equivalent is a superior to mine? Maybe the cause of her undesirable tendencies is a complete lack of psychological upkeep, stemming from total self-satisfaction?

That is something that has always eluded ME.

Therefore she isn’t broken unto herself, ya? Perhaps I’m the one who is flawed?

Maybe I’m the one broken?

Momentary Respite

It was coming up for air, taking a deep breath for the first time in a years, an acquittal, affirmation, understanding, cold water on a hot day. I was holding all the answers I needed in my hand, it didn’t matter what they were, just that I knew them was enough.

Then I woke up.

God grant me clarity. It seems I’m becoming delusional.

Delayed Reaction

You died again last night. And I sat by your bed talking with you now and then, but mostly just watching you, trying to determine in my childish way, how much of you was still left inside your shrinking body, just like I did 26 years ago.

And I woke up this morning and cried in the bathtub for the first time because unlike then, when losing you meant no more than losing an extra scoop of ice cream, I finally understood what I lost. Something I never knew I had. Someone like me.

I wonder if mom still has your old paintings?