Monthly Archives: January 2015

When there is nothing insightful

When there is nothing insightful

When there is nothing insightful it is all just a stark and barren rain forest.  Emotions are there, they well up and sometimes explode like oil wells or even old faithful.  Urges to make human connections are fleeting.  One moment a person’s voice or advice sounds wonderful, the next I forget I even thought of them while I watch a TV show to study more multiple choice questions.  Life has lost its color despite the blooming fresh lilies along the train track alleyways.  One week the future is dark and grim the next I feel I have all the tools I need to handle anything that comes my way.  There is no real way to set a forecast and get on with life.  The transition point is this starkness that persists like my day job.  A place where everyone does things not because they actually want to, but because the place exists and needs cleaning.

When there is nothing insightful the arts simply look like that belong there as some natural excrement of the human condition.  Just pushed aside or into the background to add characterization to the flat tones of life.

When there is nothing insightful I miss my grandmothers and grandfathers.  I wonder what they would have had to tell me about being bored and still broke in my 30s.  I miss their quirks and rules of thumb.  Their funny ways of saying things replay in my head and I just want to hug them and rebuild a relationship with them.  But they are gone so my thoughts go on to everything else in life that is out of my reach.  The lack of skill needed to finish projects, lack of caring about helping fellow humans, lack of a need to progress to another stage of adulthood that I was conditioned to believe is the natural progression, lack lack lack.  It all comes down to what I don’t have then to what else I could lose.

It is the only bubble that I’ve ever known that is changing form.  Many things still look that same but the responsibility for it is more on my shoulders therefore I interact with it more.  I never even knew it was protecting me, I just thought that was life, but the world is much bigger now.  With my new view I am able to imagine myself outside of that protective bubble, though I am not scared, I am nostalgic and sad for a better time when there weren’t so many people out to take me for a fool.

 

The bad friend

The bad friend

I am a bad friend.

All her friends have always said so.

When she was nine, her best friend told her she was a bad friend because she wore glasses.

When she was 12, a friend told her she was bad because her braces and mouth retainer made her breath smell.

When she was 15, she was a bad friend for standing up for her boyfriend.

When she was 18, she was a bad friend for not being friends with a girl she hadn’t spoken to in two years.

When she was 21, she was a bad friend for not saying hello to a friend of a friend who really needed people to be nice to her.

When she was 24, she was a bad friend for not keeping in contact for the few weeks she went home to help her dad recover from heart surgery.

When she was 27, she wasn’t a bad friend because she had given up on having friends.

When she was 30 she was a bad friend for always calling another friend in the evening after a few drinks.

At least she’s got a few years before someone blames her for trying to be friends with them.