Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Needles and fumbling fingers

A lot of my chick friends concur with my daughter. However, for most three out strikers, Google paints prospects in much darker shades. 

You say, Who gives credence to Google? Most do. That's the pain of it. That's what gives the agony of my masochism its sense. One pain to supplant another. Feel emptiness, loss, the tears in emotional tissue? Take to the miles of mountain trails that bring us to cathartic release. If you have not wept on the mountain, you have not climbed high enough, are not remote enough, are not yet in touch with the brevity and vulnerability of each of your heart's beats.

Loneliness is a bittersweet freedom. No harassment, no abuse. No companionship either. And as L— and I talked it over, that longing isn't a bad one. It's human. Pairing off has been genetic tradition long before the ark was built.

But humans get skittish when members of our species can't seem to strike a strong hold. Nothing but my children have stuck fast. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Parents of my Divine Origin. I was young and floundering and headed fast for early demise, and yes, I get the biological factors and consequences involved, but still, my four little ones, turn for turn, came along and saved me, gave me a rudder, took my finger in their mighty grasp and said, "Mamma, come this way. Remember who you are."

And now my baby girl, wispy darling budding woman, dances in and out of my struggles with her streamers of hope. "I would date you, Mom."

She, of the ilk who know me best. 

I don't know what I want. I don't want to marry. I don't really want to date. I don't really want to hang out. What I do know, I want the tears to mend. I tell her I must take responsibility for the people I've allowed into my life. My trusting nature, which could much more accurately be described as a lack of appropriate boundaries, it betrays me. 

I have bits of evil I haven't rooted out. Selfishness that needs digging. I kneel at the base of the tree and scratch at the earth with raw fingertips. Mostly, I give in to the hopelessness of the task and resign myself to sitting in the mixture of the excavated ground and my tears. The tree grows up around the blight. 

1 comment:

  1. Speaking as someone who has spent a lot of time alone, there are worse things. :)

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