Eye of the Beholder

I would be lying if I told you that this has been an easy week, emotionally speaking. It hasn't. That's the long and short of it.

I'm at that impass where the feelings that weigh on me can't be spoken (not here, here is too public) but it is all that occupies my mind. I can elude which feels like half-truths which doesn't feel like who I am.

Brevity and dishonesty, they are not my forte.

I have a soggy perspective. Maybe from the tears shed or the rain that fell last night. Why does it feel so much better to cry when it is raining? Trying to do the "right thing" isn't as easy as it sounds. I have found myself in situations this week, I never imagined I would. I have vacilated between bravado and cowardice. I seem to have lost my footing. Who am I again?

After three attempts to make tea, I finally have a cup that is drinkable. I turn the kettle on, wait for the whistle, turn off the burner and forget to pour. I turn the kettle on, pour the boiling water, let the tea steep and forget about it until it has turned cold. I turn the kettle on and wait, warming myself by the blue flame, thinking, why can't I get warm inside? I make the tea. It tastes bitter. I drink it anyhow.

I've slipped into a patch of sorrow. I wasn't watching where I was going. That's what happens when your head is in the clouds. Or buried in the sand. I am reminded that I would rather look a person in the eye than live with the regret of not being authentic. . . of not owning up to my part. I would rather know than not know. The truth, I can handle. I can work with. I can make sense of it. Eventually. Is it just me or do you also see everyone living some semblance of a lie?

Myself included.

I say: Yes, I knew and I didn't tell you. I couldn't.

I say: Yes, I broke your heart. I understand why risk is so frightening. I wish you could trust me.

I say: I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.

. . . mostly to myself. . .