I have two heads
Apr. 23rd, 2004 11:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootbut only one brain.
One head smiling because all week amazing chums have been in contact and from really valued advice to sheer mucking about, it's been sweet. This morning the paperwork is out of the way, and I saw a heron really close up, huge and beautiful. These things made me so happy I made a phone call and now my happy head has sustained a mighty pummelling with all the resistance of a baked apple.
For the purposes of my other, more morose head, I must now babble and employ the cut. Stay away from this if you want to avoid a bit of a downer.
The problem that is never going away is rampant right now. I have no way of changing it, no way of helping. All I can do is listen, and it just sinks in, I can't keep it out. It feels like my stomach is being held together with a paper clip.
Funny, isn't it, how LJ for me hasn't become a spilling out of truth or revelation. I started this with the intention of just spewing anything irrespective of quality or readership, so that I could get less self conscious about my writing. For this reason, I never use the lock facility. My bizarre fear of letting people read anything I put down is not condusive to a career as a author/hack!
Hah. I look back and see how I have meandered away from the point. Little mazes full of rubbish to divert me. I want to write it all down, but I just can't. What is there to say? A relative I love, so ill and in so much pain a part of me whispers that death would be easier. I am wrong of course, judgemental and ill-informed. No, I have to face the fact that I can do nothing, can help nothing, can heal nothing, can provide no solutions, can bring nothing to conclusion, can create no happy ever after. Empty hands, empty head, empty heart. I can only listen, badly.
Worse, I feel the pain myself beyond description, but if I detach myself from it for even a moment, I am back in the sunlight, being happy. Look at me now. The grass has been cut outside, and I breath in that smell and I am refreshed. So trivial. Health? selfishness? shallowness? I don't know. I just can't help it. I feel sorry for the situation and sorry for the other and sorry for myself, but there's still some part of me that gets up after cataclysm. I feel guilty about it; Shouldn't I be lying among the honourable dead?
But I'm not, and I may be crying, but the day is still beautiful.
And that's the bottom line.
One head smiling because all week amazing chums have been in contact and from really valued advice to sheer mucking about, it's been sweet. This morning the paperwork is out of the way, and I saw a heron really close up, huge and beautiful. These things made me so happy I made a phone call and now my happy head has sustained a mighty pummelling with all the resistance of a baked apple.
For the purposes of my other, more morose head, I must now babble and employ the cut. Stay away from this if you want to avoid a bit of a downer.
The problem that is never going away is rampant right now. I have no way of changing it, no way of helping. All I can do is listen, and it just sinks in, I can't keep it out. It feels like my stomach is being held together with a paper clip.
Funny, isn't it, how LJ for me hasn't become a spilling out of truth or revelation. I started this with the intention of just spewing anything irrespective of quality or readership, so that I could get less self conscious about my writing. For this reason, I never use the lock facility. My bizarre fear of letting people read anything I put down is not condusive to a career as a author/hack!
Hah. I look back and see how I have meandered away from the point. Little mazes full of rubbish to divert me. I want to write it all down, but I just can't. What is there to say? A relative I love, so ill and in so much pain a part of me whispers that death would be easier. I am wrong of course, judgemental and ill-informed. No, I have to face the fact that I can do nothing, can help nothing, can heal nothing, can provide no solutions, can bring nothing to conclusion, can create no happy ever after. Empty hands, empty head, empty heart. I can only listen, badly.
Worse, I feel the pain myself beyond description, but if I detach myself from it for even a moment, I am back in the sunlight, being happy. Look at me now. The grass has been cut outside, and I breath in that smell and I am refreshed. So trivial. Health? selfishness? shallowness? I don't know. I just can't help it. I feel sorry for the situation and sorry for the other and sorry for myself, but there's still some part of me that gets up after cataclysm. I feel guilty about it; Shouldn't I be lying among the honourable dead?
But I'm not, and I may be crying, but the day is still beautiful.
And that's the bottom line.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-24 03:33 am (UTC)Relative ain't dying, part of my struggle is that I feel it would be better on her if she did, cos her present situation could grant her many years in the most abject misery. I have always looked on death as a kindly thing, not something to hate, a blessing when things have gone too far. Death doesn't scare me. Ongoing pain does. But that's just me and I'm pretty damned ignorant about these things.
I'm going to carry on enjoying the sunshine. It's better knowing you're around!
Love you lots *Big Schmaltzy Hug!*