late night wonderin's..
Oct. 20th, 2006 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegoda when I'm outside on a crystal clear night, like tonight is, and I can see all the stars that I can see. And for me, partially night blind in my right eye (left eye is, oddly enough, very sharp), that's really a lot of stars.
There are times I think of the people that have left my life or, conversly, I have left theirs, and I wonder if they think of me as often as I think of them.
I have been accused of carrying around baggage and not forgetting anything. It's quite possible. The oddest things can remind me of events in the past, and I do carry my entire life inside my head.
Tonight I was reminded of popcorn balls. Not the kind that you buy at the store, all nicely wrapped in red celophane and sanitized for your protection. No, I'm talking about the ones that come goopy out of the big cast aluminum pot that has been sitting on the stove melting down the karo syrup and butter. I'm talking about the ones that a whole bag of popcorn has been popped just for this event. The ones that require and demand that small hands of not quite pubescent age butter up so they don't get terribly sticky, with the warning to wash them first... regardless of whether it happens or not.
These are the popcorn balls of my youth. Pot the size of a small island, bearing hot, white fluffy things, covered in melted lava of stickiness that cause laughter and togetherness. These are the popcorn balls that the tongue sticks out of an eight year old's mouth in concentration to see if they can get it just right. These are the popcorn balls that, no matter how you try, will always leave something behind to stick on temples and lenses so that the glasses with the rockets on the hinges must be cleaned in hot hot water.
The smell, the feel, the crunch, and the carmel leavings in the pan follow me like the people that I've left, or those that have left me.
Why the folks that are not there, instead of those that are? It's the difference between standing in the crystal clear night, looking up at the stars and riding the stars themselves.
Those that are with me... those rare and incredible people that continue to stick around regardless of my irascible nature and my tendency to say the things that should be left for the inside voice ("You have NO inside voice", they said), they are the comets beneath my feet, leading me great adventures and reminding me time and time again that what is important is invisible to the eye. They are the stars that shine above me and below me, letting me know that in all the world, no matter where I go, I am not alone. They are the wonders of my universe.
Those that are not... ever single one of them, from friend, to lover, to aquaintence, to them that just plain don't like me ... they are the chapters in lifes book that I have read, the movies that I've seen, the songs sung. They have their incredible place, in the past, and in dreams and in stories I tell. And you know, I wouldn't have passed up a chance to meet a single one of them, from Betsy Barteau, who was my first love back in the fourth grade, to Bob Chester, who almost made me believe in Satan and gave me a taste of what it was to actually hate someone. And no, I don't. Believe in Satan. Or hate anyone. Both are icky things and get in my way of having a heck of a life.
The concept of just walking away from the past isn't something that come easy to me... and I suspect it doesn't come easy to you either. I would lay odds that if I were to meet you anywhere, at anytime, we could talk about ... oh... anything at all and the conversation, where ever it went would dredge up memories of the past, good, or bad. And you would survive those memories, because they make you a part of what you are, today.
What you are today can be bitter. You can be sad. Happy, content, aggravated, pleased, cheerful, angry... you pick it, it's there for you to choose.
I made a decision a long time ago, so long ago that I don't even remember it. It was one of those 'eh' moments, neither happy or sad, not traumatic in any way (and yes, happy can be traumatic; traumatic doesn't have to be bad, just lasting). The decision I made was that I could live though anything, anything at all, and if it was so bad that I couldn't, what would it matter. It would still be over.
I have moments of anger. I have moments of joy. moments of every single type of emotion there is to have. And they're moments. Not hours (though I have been known to have a feeling for days), but minutes. Generally, every single emotion that is felt is felt for a moment, and then either grows or fades, and each growing or fading also occurs in moments in time.
When we remember, we remember a moment, and incident, a happening. What we do with the happening is what makes us what we are. I get lucky. It takes me, at most, three hours to leave a bad moment. Oh, I've carried that moment with me for a while.. I think a week was my limit... but you know, if I was approached at anytime during my carrying of that emotional moment and presented with something else, that moment would have dissipated like mist in a warm room. Heck, I've been known to forget a moment of anger and turn it to a moment of joy just from the smile of a child, the wink of a pretty one, or the picture of Abe Lincoln in the clouds.
I figure I'm pretty lucky, if I believed in luck. I don't. It's just the way I decided to live. It makes me goofy, though not unpredictable. I've been told I'm incredibly predictable, and oh well. It was a phrase that irritated me at first, but after I've lived with it, it became just another thing about me. True or not? I don't know. I don't care. Doesn't matter.
There are folks who, even today, I probably tick off because I may develop the attiude that I don't care. I do care about the folk I care about, else I wouldn't be talking to them. I may NOT care about what they're talking about. I also see no reason to pretend I care, so generally I don't. If you were to ask some of my closest friends (and there are about four of them), they would assure you that they have heard me say to them, straight faced, "I don't care." about this or that or something else they may be talking about.
And if the shoe was on the other hoof? I'd like to think that, because I do it, I would go, "Oh... ok." and move on to something else. Actually, I think one of my friends did that, because I ticked her off when I said it, so she turned it back on me, and I believe I said "Oh, ok" and moved on to something else. Course, there may be a differing of stories here, because, after all, I tend to paint myself as a good guy, when I know for a fact I'm a bit of a bastard. I'm even willing to accept the different story of myself as true. If I was being an ass, I'll sincerly apologize for it. Being an ass is never a good thing to be.
Why is this pouring out when I should be asleep? I get up in 6 hours, you see. Weekends start early in the morning for me.
I wanted to write tonight. I decided I'd just stream of consciousness out. My stream of consciousness has obviously been seeing a lot of folks that felt horrible about themselves and I just wanted to tell you all out there that I think you are just fine. That no matter if the ex has decided to make you his or her own version of Satan or if the job sucks and you can't stand those morons you work with because they just don't get it or the customers are idiots and they tick you off, or the folks at the school have no understanding of what your needs are, that YOU, in my book, if you are reading this, are just fine. You're ok doke. You're the very best you can be and are some of the whipped cream on my sundae. Not the cherries... I don't really like cherries cuz they are one smug fruit, you know? But the whipped cream? Yessir. You are the whipped cream on my sundae.
Hold your head high, you are the very best you can be. At this moment
And if you're very lucky, you will stumble upon the secret of forgetting the bad feelings and realizing that it's only for a moment, a split infinitive of time, that those feelings exist, and that no matter what the bastards in the world do, you will always have yourself. Perfect in every way that you can possibly be, in the moment you are.
Just like popcorn balls.
There are times I think of the people that have left my life or, conversly, I have left theirs, and I wonder if they think of me as often as I think of them.
I have been accused of carrying around baggage and not forgetting anything. It's quite possible. The oddest things can remind me of events in the past, and I do carry my entire life inside my head.
Tonight I was reminded of popcorn balls. Not the kind that you buy at the store, all nicely wrapped in red celophane and sanitized for your protection. No, I'm talking about the ones that come goopy out of the big cast aluminum pot that has been sitting on the stove melting down the karo syrup and butter. I'm talking about the ones that a whole bag of popcorn has been popped just for this event. The ones that require and demand that small hands of not quite pubescent age butter up so they don't get terribly sticky, with the warning to wash them first... regardless of whether it happens or not.
These are the popcorn balls of my youth. Pot the size of a small island, bearing hot, white fluffy things, covered in melted lava of stickiness that cause laughter and togetherness. These are the popcorn balls that the tongue sticks out of an eight year old's mouth in concentration to see if they can get it just right. These are the popcorn balls that, no matter how you try, will always leave something behind to stick on temples and lenses so that the glasses with the rockets on the hinges must be cleaned in hot hot water.
The smell, the feel, the crunch, and the carmel leavings in the pan follow me like the people that I've left, or those that have left me.
Why the folks that are not there, instead of those that are? It's the difference between standing in the crystal clear night, looking up at the stars and riding the stars themselves.
Those that are with me... those rare and incredible people that continue to stick around regardless of my irascible nature and my tendency to say the things that should be left for the inside voice ("You have NO inside voice", they said), they are the comets beneath my feet, leading me great adventures and reminding me time and time again that what is important is invisible to the eye. They are the stars that shine above me and below me, letting me know that in all the world, no matter where I go, I am not alone. They are the wonders of my universe.
Those that are not... ever single one of them, from friend, to lover, to aquaintence, to them that just plain don't like me ... they are the chapters in lifes book that I have read, the movies that I've seen, the songs sung. They have their incredible place, in the past, and in dreams and in stories I tell. And you know, I wouldn't have passed up a chance to meet a single one of them, from Betsy Barteau, who was my first love back in the fourth grade, to Bob Chester, who almost made me believe in Satan and gave me a taste of what it was to actually hate someone. And no, I don't. Believe in Satan. Or hate anyone. Both are icky things and get in my way of having a heck of a life.
The concept of just walking away from the past isn't something that come easy to me... and I suspect it doesn't come easy to you either. I would lay odds that if I were to meet you anywhere, at anytime, we could talk about ... oh... anything at all and the conversation, where ever it went would dredge up memories of the past, good, or bad. And you would survive those memories, because they make you a part of what you are, today.
What you are today can be bitter. You can be sad. Happy, content, aggravated, pleased, cheerful, angry... you pick it, it's there for you to choose.
I made a decision a long time ago, so long ago that I don't even remember it. It was one of those 'eh' moments, neither happy or sad, not traumatic in any way (and yes, happy can be traumatic; traumatic doesn't have to be bad, just lasting). The decision I made was that I could live though anything, anything at all, and if it was so bad that I couldn't, what would it matter. It would still be over.
I have moments of anger. I have moments of joy. moments of every single type of emotion there is to have. And they're moments. Not hours (though I have been known to have a feeling for days), but minutes. Generally, every single emotion that is felt is felt for a moment, and then either grows or fades, and each growing or fading also occurs in moments in time.
When we remember, we remember a moment, and incident, a happening. What we do with the happening is what makes us what we are. I get lucky. It takes me, at most, three hours to leave a bad moment. Oh, I've carried that moment with me for a while.. I think a week was my limit... but you know, if I was approached at anytime during my carrying of that emotional moment and presented with something else, that moment would have dissipated like mist in a warm room. Heck, I've been known to forget a moment of anger and turn it to a moment of joy just from the smile of a child, the wink of a pretty one, or the picture of Abe Lincoln in the clouds.
I figure I'm pretty lucky, if I believed in luck. I don't. It's just the way I decided to live. It makes me goofy, though not unpredictable. I've been told I'm incredibly predictable, and oh well. It was a phrase that irritated me at first, but after I've lived with it, it became just another thing about me. True or not? I don't know. I don't care. Doesn't matter.
There are folks who, even today, I probably tick off because I may develop the attiude that I don't care. I do care about the folk I care about, else I wouldn't be talking to them. I may NOT care about what they're talking about. I also see no reason to pretend I care, so generally I don't. If you were to ask some of my closest friends (and there are about four of them), they would assure you that they have heard me say to them, straight faced, "I don't care." about this or that or something else they may be talking about.
And if the shoe was on the other hoof? I'd like to think that, because I do it, I would go, "Oh... ok." and move on to something else. Actually, I think one of my friends did that, because I ticked her off when I said it, so she turned it back on me, and I believe I said "Oh, ok" and moved on to something else. Course, there may be a differing of stories here, because, after all, I tend to paint myself as a good guy, when I know for a fact I'm a bit of a bastard. I'm even willing to accept the different story of myself as true. If I was being an ass, I'll sincerly apologize for it. Being an ass is never a good thing to be.
Why is this pouring out when I should be asleep? I get up in 6 hours, you see. Weekends start early in the morning for me.
I wanted to write tonight. I decided I'd just stream of consciousness out. My stream of consciousness has obviously been seeing a lot of folks that felt horrible about themselves and I just wanted to tell you all out there that I think you are just fine. That no matter if the ex has decided to make you his or her own version of Satan or if the job sucks and you can't stand those morons you work with because they just don't get it or the customers are idiots and they tick you off, or the folks at the school have no understanding of what your needs are, that YOU, in my book, if you are reading this, are just fine. You're ok doke. You're the very best you can be and are some of the whipped cream on my sundae. Not the cherries... I don't really like cherries cuz they are one smug fruit, you know? But the whipped cream? Yessir. You are the whipped cream on my sundae.
Hold your head high, you are the very best you can be. At this moment
And if you're very lucky, you will stumble upon the secret of forgetting the bad feelings and realizing that it's only for a moment, a split infinitive of time, that those feelings exist, and that no matter what the bastards in the world do, you will always have yourself. Perfect in every way that you can possibly be, in the moment you are.
Just like popcorn balls.
