The days of rest, away from the everyday. Where anyone can be anything, anytime, anywhere. Without the distractions of one million different battles to fight, noses to wipe, shoulders to pat, hands to shake, characters to shape, futures to reveal and scars to heal...we are left without our own facades, with little choice but to entertain the valleys, darknesses and unspoken parts of our own selves.
The day is unencubmered by anything. Crispness in the air and a sunshine fit for rebirth and newness, surely goodness. I deal with the stresses of the monthly and trying to arrange the smoke and mirrors to make it another 30 days. During the 90 minute car ride, the music plays...manipulating various memories, feelings and emotions both positively and negatively. I spend so much time looking for the places to retreat to in the attempts of not reliving things over for the 3 thousandth time. I ask and ask, why does the unabailability of someone thrust me in a certain direction.
Perhaps even with my ex-wife. Her inability to share herself, certainly unavailable for so much of out marriage. As that relationship actively died, I embark on a series of further unavailable people. Deep, intense become words that are trite and cliche. Gouges made with dull butter knives.
I sliced my thumb opening a plastic package today. As I drove on, applying pressure...the thumb throbed. I would check and take the napkin off the cut only to see the bright red blood begin to seep from the cut for near an hour. Finally, it stopped. Then when I am about 3 minutes from the dump, I move my thumb worng and the crimson pours out again.
It's much like the emotions I juggle everyday. Sealed and healed for a time only to entertain the wrong idea, see the wrong person, entertain the wrong hope...the pain spills again.
For someone who has such solid advice for my students, I seem to never be able to practice what I preach. Perhaps it is the Devine punchline. I allow my heart to go places with people that have no chance in hell of being healty or smart, yet...I am powerless to fight. How long will the illusion of hope find audience with me? However, to really move on past the sea of unavailibility I am adept at rowing my boat into, there has to be a new focus of/for emotions. I am tired of hurting people, but I am even more starved for company, contact, something healthy and fulfilling.
It is actually really frustrating...people I really care for...several, but no chance in hell. Who does that, how do I do that?
I am a person with a full bag of presents, no one to give them too and the bag of presents only gets heavier.
unconditionally,
I love u,
Dave
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