Sunday, January 8, 2006

twenty more true things. I will always find another favourite song. There are few weapons in this world more deadly than the corners of coffee tables. "Now practically sweating with value!" is a terrible advertising pitch. There are few things as sweet as laundry-fresh white towels. The older I get, the more glad I am that I'm not in high school anymore. Feeling sad makes me very, very quiet and very, very tired. Hanging pictures is a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon. My dad wears bow ties. Really. And makes it look good. I smell like cocoa. I'm tired of lattes. I wake up in the morning, listen for the rain, and plan my hair accordingly. In other words: no rain = have fun. Rain? Ponytail. My mother trafficks leftovers like crack. My Trivial Pursuit unbeaten streak continues. I have dashes of dark red and apple green all over my life in the midst of white and taupe and black. I'd love to be the emotional equivalent of an accent colour in my surroundings. My roommate has both IMed and "texted" me from the next room in the past two days. I'd much rather be TrillinSedarisKeillorEggersBryson than GrishamKingClancySteeleKrantz. Six of my friends admit to flushing live goldfish down the toilet. I hate having newspaper ink on my hands. I should probably do a romantic duet with Phil Collins someday. I love the people that read this blog. 11:29:30 PM    well, yes, but...  [] i thought i ordered the chicken? This is not how I thought it would be. This is not how I intended to live my life. If I'd known things would've turned out this way, I'd have done things differently from the beginning. How can you possibly know at the beginning how things will end? Tell me that these words haven't crossed your mind. Tell me you haven't wished -- even once -- for a rewind or a fast-forward or a pause or to eject the tape altogether. I know you're out there, you paragons of grace and acceptance. I admire your stance. I praise your patience. I would tear a page from your playbook, even. But you sure aren't me. I'm stubborn enough to shake my fist at the way things are. And as long as the best-laid plans continue to go amiss, paths continue to wind in unexpected ways, and circumstances continue to conspire against intention, most people will struggle with the discrepancy between desire and reality at some point in their lives. It'll hurt, too. I know it hurts me at times, even as I know that survival is all about seeing that discrepancy in terms of possibility rather than failure. I should be thankful for what comes my way instead of wishing for the things that didn't pan out. And mostly, truly, honestly, I've learned that lesson. I've learned to stop trying to imagine a life other than the one I have and to stop second guessing the choices I've made. I do what I do and I keep doing it with my head held high. If I stumble, I get back up. That's just how it is. But it aches like hell when I see the people I love experiencing disappointment at the direction their lives have gone. Not because they did something to put themselves in the path of the storm or because they walked into regret after regret without so much as a flinch. Just because things happen. And because things happen that break your heart. I'm sorry you're sick. It's not fair. I'm sorry it robs of you the things you used to take for granted. Maybe you didn't even know you took them for granted until the other shoe dropped. I'm sorry you can't stop it from happening. I would, you know. I would take as much of it from you as I could. But I can't. I'm sorry that you can't get used to a single aspect of it. It seems like our fragile bodies rob us of the ability to gain equilibrium sometimes. And I know fragile is never something you thought you'd be in a million years. I wish I could shout love into the wind so it would bring you my cries back as whispers of comfort. I wish I could shout love into the sky so it would rain down peace on your head. I wish I could shout love into the ground at your feet so it would strengthen your step with each echo. I wish I could tell you that I will never see you as anything but strong and funny and wise and true. That you are a million things more than the skin you wear and the frame that holds it taut like a pale canvas. What I actually do is kiss your cheek and squeeze your hand and make fun of you and in those moments things seem almost normal. That's what you want, so that's what happens. And most of the time, that makes things okay. I know you didn't ask for this. I know you didn't plan for it. But I love you. Always will. And when every other damn thing fades and nothing seems certain, that's something that won't change. I'll keep at it. Promise. (for my grandfather, january 2006) 1:27:10 AM    well, yes, but...  []

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