but we’re not fine. That’s the polite lie we say. It’s in the script.
we don’t say how sad we are. we don’t say how life’s fucked up. we don’t say words like depressed, or mad, or lost.
we say we’re ok, because we are. we are not on fire – no need to roll around in the snow.
I don’t say words like depressed and hopeless and restless and angry. because actions speak louder than words!
and they say the problem with us wallace kids is that we don’t listen. Hah!
I listen. I listen for mom’s echoes as I look at her pictures, at pictures of her. I listen for Walt’s laugh and mom’s smile. I listen to my heart break, but I’m ok.
In the rush to find space for the inlaws, we shoved a lot of shit from one place to another place – at the office I opened the card from my friends at the office …
those words are in a quilt laid over my office chair, one made by brenda (and michelle I suspect) … listening to the tears race down my face … heading to an edge where they can jump …
ah fuck. this is why it’s hard. because it’s hard … and it sucks …
“every day is the start of something beautiful” says Matt Nathanson in a song at the end of a tv show – a show that has distracted me for months. or the other show that distracts me. Let me tell you about Northern Exposure some day …
All we are we are .. he sings. and every day is a start to something beautiful. Guess he’s speaking of action.
we aren’t ok. we aren’t fine. but we do keep going on.
these waves come crashing – when I’m in the midst, when it looms so far overhead and blocks out the stars, I want to write for days … share the feelings (shared happiness is better, shared pain is lessoned… says a dude who writes and is canadian and a hugo winner and was spoke of in Cory’s writings on BoingBoing…) share where I am.
but I put down a sentence. or a word. or sit and look at the screen the keyboard the floor the ceiling and don’t do anything anything at all it’s so much easier to stop trying to just not do it anything at all.
songs rip my heart out too. but I can deal with that, the words being pushed into my skull at work as I listen through the iPod my friends gifted me so wonderfully – they are wonderful friends. Like all my friends – so damn fucking wonderful. I doubt I’d be as not fine as I am without them. Do I tell them thanks? do I tell them how much they mean? or do I slip through another mtwtfss and another mtwtfss and another until it’s too late – society would frown … or would they?
“we show great loyalty to the hard times we’ve been thru” – thanks Catie – John’s words work, work so well, but that song … that one helps.
Wendy’s wendy. Shari’s shari. Blood is blood … and we’re all … not big. not strong.
and here is where I lose the steam, I wander, I realize I need to push the ‘post entry’ button … wendy reads. shari reads. blood reads … and Carrie … and friends, Dave. Ping. Do I share and burden and make sad them, the ones who are here now? to ponder those who aren’t? (yeah, canela, I’m looking at you!) … but the freedom to talk and write and push what is true and what is real is the power to be set free from the weight – ‘pretty heavy, eh?’ a fictional character living a fictitious life says to another fake person, a young boy. heavy. depressed. oh, I get it, eh?
“I find great comfort in you” … it’s why I rage, boo… it’s why I want so much more of you …
my fear is it’s a one shot thing – now or never – don’t ask what I did in the Air Force, don’t ask … I can’t tell you. ‘How you doing?’ – …. “fine”
~ S ~
love is the reason – love is all you need
where to find the courage to live boldly, not die meekly …