2002-08-22 - 12:12 p.m.
Muddled rain-soaked thoughts

"... To everything, turn, turn, turn,
There is a season, turn, turn, turn ..."

I need to get my new leather jacket weatherized. It's not like August out today, no, not at all; it's behaving more like October. Unfortunately, I can't risk raindrops on my newest major acquisition yet, no matter how many goosebumps I get. *forlorn sigh*

"... It's a bittersweet symphony, this life ..."

There's a new series of books out in the Sci-Fi category, started off with "Kushiel's Dart" and "Kushiel's Chosen" (though I may have got the order wrong). I haven't read them, and don't intend to, as they sound like an NC-17 exploration of sex and politics, a little outside my usual realm of entertainment. The description of the heroine sent my thoughts skittering off in interesting directions, however. Her nervous system registers pleasure and pain as the same, making her the perfect whore/spy type. It occured to me that a lot of people are probably that way in real life -- not physically, but emotionally. You know, the old either kiss me or kill me but at least I know I matter to you routine. Either way, it gives meaning.

"... It's like rain, on your wedding day ..."

My pseudo-sister KaDee is working on her third child, heavy with the destiny she always secretly wanted, but is now starting to see as just another kind of cage. She's usually happy when I see or hear from her, in most ways, but it doesn't take a psychic to piece together the threads of a recurring what-if heartache from the casual comments about her husband's attitudes and the flashes of frustration when she reaches around her growing stomach to corral her toddler and infant.

"... I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed ..."

And there's the crux of the issue bothering me today. I *do* feel ashamed. I have the oddest preset attitudes! Liberal conservative, that's me. I feel ashamed, and slightly embarrased, for almost everything about myself.

For being as young as I am, yet acting insufferably old.
For being as old as I am, yet acting insufferably young.
For loosening my hold on half the convictions my mother taught me.
For holding fast to many convictions that the rest of the world ridicules.
For having so much and wanting so little.
For having so little and wanting so much.

"... I wish the real world would just stop hassling me ..."

The world is at its most beautiful, in my eyes, just after a heavy rain. The sky is still slate-gray, the sun-baked grass shakes crystal drops into a gentle wind, the trees stand out in shocking green against the muted backdrop of dampened buildings, and the smell of wet earth is rich in the air around me. (Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and listen to the quiet song of churchbells in the distance). Shift the location to a graveyard; the sense of connection with all that is sharpens, sweetens.

" ... Am I standing still, with the scenery flying by ..."

Why that scene? There are more, and many, multiplying in my imagination. And none, none, none of them have anything to do with what I do for a living, or anything I *could* be doing for a living anytime soon. Meaning in my life? What's that?

" ... Say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave ..."

Oh, don't mind me. I'm moody, and toying with imagery again. Melancholia with a smile, and the fragmentary songs have only helped. Here's a more appealing one:

"...Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow,
Kick off your shoes and you throw ‘em on the floor.
Dance in the kitchen 'til the morning light... "

Dancing on the knife-edge of change. Can't wait to see what happens next.