Archive | February 9, 2012

The Only Title I Can Come Up With for This is ARGH.

This is a post of Very Uncomfortable Feelings.

It’s a culmination of many different things, that has obviously been building up for awhile, although recent triggers have been a catalyst to often make me shake my head and compose this as I drive. And even then, even when it’s just me and my words and there is no judgement, I cannot even put together the words in a way that conveys the general ARGHiness of this post.

I move fast. It is true in every way that you can turn it; with the exception of running, I am a fast person. (And even then? To start with? I’m a sprinter at heart. I can run really fast for .. a little while.) I type fast, I talk fast, I process quickly, and I want everything in my life to be as streamlined as my mind works. Which is to say that I spend a lot of my time going ARGH COME ON ALREADY.

I think that, in order to work this fast and efficiently, I neatly compile my feelings into succinct little boxes. Even my emotions seem black and white a lot of the time.

For instance.

The Powell family tragedy. I cannot even link to it because if you don’t know, you’re better off for it. I cannot (and when I’m talking out loud in the car, I say CAN-NOT because I mean it that definitively) comprehend a father’s actions in this case. CAN-NOT. It INFURIATES me. Sickens me. Forces me to openly weep. The details that – for some reason – keep coming out about this case just further worm into my heart, make me want to shut in our kids and never let them out. Never. I have no ability to play devil’s advocate here.

In a completely different vein, a virtual friend of mine lost her battle to inflammatory breast cancer. We were friends due to our love of our little boys and our love of science. She was an amazing person, one who absolutely leaves behind a long and detailed tapestry of love and legacy. There are not enough words to pay her due tribute, not enough flowers to send, not enough poems to write. She leaves behind two little boys. Little boys like mine. Little boys like the Powells.

I am just ARGH because I read these things and they both make me cry, inconsolably, at the massive injustice of the world. Like there is so much dark out there, so many black holes in our atmosphere, that we are all inevitably going to trip one, a landmine hidden under the surface. Just something to explode suddenly, or implode even, and leave your world shaken and empty. Vacuous.

And is always the way, I feel this way so deeply this week and I leave every day to a giant, full moon. There is a moon there, reminding me of my grandmother, of past loves, of a giant landmark that we all look to. Our little boys look there with wonder and fascination, and who can blame them? If you’re exploring, you expect a landmine or two. You expect to find a crater by falling in. Because you’re on. You’re ready. Binoculars in hand, map at the ready, you know something unexpected – good or bad – is around the bend.

It’s these surprises that hit me the hardest.

I keep looking for answers, for justification where there is none. There is none.

Between all of this and a local news team posting a Facebook picture of a fatal wreck – a detailed picture, containing car make and model and just how badly it was demolished in said wreck that killed someone – before the family had even been notified .. I am just looking at this online stuff and wondering why in the world I do any of it.

And Susan, as always, had the perfect turn of a phrase to remind me.

“All that survives after our death¬†are publications and people.

So look carefully after the words you write, the thoughts and publications you create, and how you love others.¬† For these are the only things that will remain.”

I look at my boys and I look at my “rocket ships” and I look at that moon, and I think, One day.

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