Sunday, November 27, 2011

A Siren Call

Tonight a coworker interrupted my librarian state letting me know she was bored and was curious about what I've been up to during our mini holiday vacation.  Who am I to blame her?  Four days from an addiction is difficult, in this case it is her addiction, the law, the rat race, the Babylon Tower.  I answered honestly, "Librarian loopy - reading and listening to classical music."  Which is what I've been happily doing for the last two days.

She took one look at me, when we met at the bar and said, "Oh wow!  You did your makeup.  You never wear makeup at work."  Slight scrowl.  I do wear makeup, I just don't wear myself.  But her comment caused me to reconsider my appearance.  Today, my nails are painted dark cloudy grey, my eyes are eyelined in maroon and I even sported blood-stained lips.  Clothed in my favorite black/grey - I can see why she was taken by surprise.  At work, I am a wall flower, a non-entity.  She asked me why I don't do this during the week.  My answer is simple. Shrugs, "What's the point?"  I am not stupid, I understand the point.  Dress for success and all that bullshit.  But, this place is not my success.  She asked me why also I wasn't reaching out to [in her mind] the many attractive persons in the vicinity, especially after they approached me for either cigarettes or lighters for such.  Even the cute earnest young'un  Taylor was it??  How can I explain to her?  I can't.  I know what I want and it's not CandyLandimensional shadows.

Recently, I've been digging... digging into the brains of friends about futures.  What do they seek?  How do they envision themselves?  There is a fine line we walk as we age.  How do we remain true to our pasts and still further the goals that our [hopefully] more mature selves desire?

 Max Richter - Autumn Music I

There are people in my life who will rejoice when I say, I'm done.  I'm done with so many things.  Done worrying about how it will all work out.   Done trying to define myself in a way that would appease the tongues of so many.  Done denying the siren's call.  It never made a difference, they always saw through my paltry attempts at assimilation.  More and more, I feel my place.  I inch closer to self, that self that has hungered longingly for me to return.  Poor odd little nerd that never left, only tried to wear the others' clothes in the hopes of being accepted.  Even if I'm afraid to admit it, I am no longer afraid to live it.

Unmarred by distance, relationships, fear or alcohol.  None of these things matter anymore.  Whispered and shy, this is the subtle awkward pulsating strangeness of seeing a lover you once knew... Maybe even also like the tenuous tenacity of a seed to stem, pushing its way through harsh soil, through the incomparable depths of grief, the raucous fickle winds of rebellion, the deceptively still pain of stone and finally the relief of fire, I have traveled far to find her.  It is good to see her again.

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