I just said to my dog,
"Listen sweety, Daddy is Mommy and Mommy is working."
It's all very confusing and exhausting, this living two lives in one lifetime. But it's only for the time being.
Yesterday I wanted so badly to tell Tall Megan about a stor(more)y I had written that was timely or pertinent or something. Maybe I just thought it would make her laugh but I understood all too well, the consequences of starting down that path with a casual friend. Being from work, she knows nothing about my writing and nothing about my life on the outside. As if I escape from prison five days a week at six o'clock and break back in every morning at ten.
Not the prison of work but the prison of man. At work I am he and him and hey-man and yo-dude and excuse me sir and wassup bro-ham. It's a daunting Berlin Wall of Fuckery, as the late Ms. Winehouse might have put it. And when I'm behind that wall, it's massive width and breadth block out the light of my life on the outside.
So I didn't tell Tall Megan that story and when she asked me, "What was the name of that website again?" I told her I wasn't ready for work friends to read material that was quite so "personal". What an absolutely idiotic thing to say. But she let it go cause she is cool, which made it seem all the more absurd. This game of charades with rules that make no sense.
Unpredictable is a term that comes up when I think of fickle.
Sometimes I don’t want to be seen
Sometimes I do
Sometimes I want to be heard
(more) Sometimes I don’t
It feels fickle to me
this switch of emotionality.
For fear of judgment is the limitation;
lack of loving tenderness
and understanding for myself.
Finding balance inwardly is the beginning of
how one cares for being observed and listened to.
Building a community
such endeavors as to
see and be seen
positively, respectfully, genuinely, compassionately
and sometimes anonymously.
That’s where I want to be, in this community.
A prediction based on astrology that dates back to the 5th century BC came true; Mayans believed that there were ultimately 4 Earths that would exist. Each one more perfect than the next. December 21st, 2012 was the end of the third Earth. The per(more)fect world would be born out of the ashes of the almost perfect world.
Well, midnight struck and nothing happened. No tornados earthquakes tsunamis or gunshots. Some people went to end of the world raves covered in glitter and drugs. Others went to bed early, refusing to acknowledge the possibility of destruction. But most lay awake that long night, their ears pricked for any disturbance.
When the ominous day had come and gone, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing happened" was a common phrase for a few hours that breakfast.
It was not until the evening that President Obama gave a speech. He announced to the world that something had indeed happened yesterday.
Olympus Mons, the tallest Volcano in the solar system had erupted with devastating force. No one on Earth detected the explosion because it's on Mars. Planetary Geophysicists had determined that the climate of Mars, due to this influx of Carbon Dioxide and Water Vapor, would be much warmer.
In time, liquid oceans would return.
The Earth rejoiced, All people praised Mankind. There was peace, hands were shook and mothers were hugged. Teamwork was promised.
Man had previously only dipped a pinky on the red planet, but almost overnight it's presence became a footprint. There was some debate for a few hours whether or not it was even right to spill our mess out into the universe. This was our home.
Regardless, Manifest Destiny was a global chant by Christmas.
Mother always said that the hearts of robots were fickle things. Well as much as it pains me to say it, Mother was RIGHT!
(more) I haven't heard from him in days. I've sent him an electrical missive every day, just as I promised him he would. He hasn't replied!
Oh it just isn't fair!
I know he works oh so very, very hard every day, and I'm oh so proud of him. He keeps himself shiny and smooth, he gets his digits polished and replaced whenever they start to get rough. He takes so much pride in them. It's a delight to hold hands, or rather digits, with him when we stroll along the skywalk on Sundays.
But I suppose the stupid bucket of bolts doesn't want to stroll with me anymore, since he hasn't returned ANY of my missives.
I think he's been talking to that social unit that helps in his office. Mother says that robots ought to stay with robots and humans with humans. Mother is old fashioned and boring. She doesn't understand that I do love him dearly.
But I certainly WON'T for very much longer if he doesn't reply to me.
He promised that he would be there to escort me to the Senior Ball after school begins. Andrew, that silly boy, asks me daily if he might escort me. I always politely tell him no, I am waiting for Seventy-Five to ask me.
He really does look handsome when he lacquers himself for formal events.
I am going to write today's electric missive to him today. I am resolved that I shall be courteous but terse, wish him well and encourage him to reply to me promptly.
And then maybe, just maybe, I won't write him tomorrow AT ALL!
Jina woke up before Johnny. She crept past him in the dim light from the dirty, sheet-hung windows. She noticed just the faintest stubble on his jaw and lip, and her heart crashed against her ribs.
His words from the night before still annoyed her. It was fi(more)ne for him to be so fickle about leaving this place, and leaving it now. Jina knew what could happen in two years, even in one year. She imagined her future, narrow as it seemed now, shrinking even more. An image of herself, sweaty hair pulled back, balancing a baby on her hip, shopping at Loman's Foods, presenting coupons for diapers to the cashier, filled her mind. She wouldn't be caught in that trap.
She shivered and closed the door quietly behind her.
She would find the silver charm. And the man.