A Cautionary Tale
Errant ways de-stress the days of the would be weary moth. Powdered wings are fancy things- not to mention antennae.
Dressed to be seen on a moths night out, the ladies take care with appearance.
A powder room is filled with white and shimmering bodies aflutter.
Drawn to light as a Christian might, endangering themselves and others- waxen wings in candles lie, outside, an unfortunate clutter.
After a weekend on a farm, I am covered with bites and sadness. An ostensible shell of emotion covers my skin. I remember singing in cars. Other people elicit pity by existing. When I'm down, the last thing I elicit is pity. My sadness is putrid to others- those that hate me and those that love me. Bizarre.
There was a store in Riverbend Mall in Rome, GA called Bizarre. That was back before they closed Riverbend Mall due to the obnoxious annual flooding from nearby Coosa river. Bizarre was filled with wicker items, sea shells and collectable fossils. There were hanging beads and peacock feathers aplenty. The store was packed with interesting items to fish through and excellent hiding places for a reclusive child. I spent many an allowance there on seahorse skeletons and aquatic items that looked like cigars. I kept them in a clear, pumpkin-shaped jar and looked through them frequently. Half the store was filled with things that looked as though they could be used in eerie ceremonies or rites.there were coasters that smelled lik etea dn I inhaled this lustily. I always felt like I was on the verge of being bad just by standing in that store. It gave me a creepy feeling like I was about to get in trouble.
Certain parts of life give me a creepy, far-away feeling.
My father told me he hoped I was unhappy- a view I understand, but find creepy.
I'm am frequently viewed as a no-no and that is somehow more easily justified than others being viewed as a no-no.
I should be happy for others who have more than me even though they are sad with what they have.
My father told me life wasn't fair for any righteous person. But he doesn't think I'm righteous anymore. Spread the word. Maybe my luck will turn.
Dressed to be seen on a moths night out, the ladies take care with appearance.
A powder room is filled with white and shimmering bodies aflutter.
Drawn to light as a Christian might, endangering themselves and others- waxen wings in candles lie, outside, an unfortunate clutter.
After a weekend on a farm, I am covered with bites and sadness. An ostensible shell of emotion covers my skin. I remember singing in cars. Other people elicit pity by existing. When I'm down, the last thing I elicit is pity. My sadness is putrid to others- those that hate me and those that love me. Bizarre.
There was a store in Riverbend Mall in Rome, GA called Bizarre. That was back before they closed Riverbend Mall due to the obnoxious annual flooding from nearby Coosa river. Bizarre was filled with wicker items, sea shells and collectable fossils. There were hanging beads and peacock feathers aplenty. The store was packed with interesting items to fish through and excellent hiding places for a reclusive child. I spent many an allowance there on seahorse skeletons and aquatic items that looked like cigars. I kept them in a clear, pumpkin-shaped jar and looked through them frequently. Half the store was filled with things that looked as though they could be used in eerie ceremonies or rites.there were coasters that smelled lik etea dn I inhaled this lustily. I always felt like I was on the verge of being bad just by standing in that store. It gave me a creepy feeling like I was about to get in trouble.
Certain parts of life give me a creepy, far-away feeling.
My father told me he hoped I was unhappy- a view I understand, but find creepy.
I'm am frequently viewed as a no-no and that is somehow more easily justified than others being viewed as a no-no.
I should be happy for others who have more than me even though they are sad with what they have.
My father told me life wasn't fair for any righteous person. But he doesn't think I'm righteous anymore. Spread the word. Maybe my luck will turn.
posted by la fille du fromage at 3:56 PM
5 Comments:
I’m sorry you are so sad, Cheese Girl. What do people do that makes you think your sadness is unacceptable? This is troubling. Everyone needs enough space to mourn the pain of life.
Perhaps your father wants you to do things differently, and he hopes unhappiness will drive you there? In that case, maybe he doesn’t really want you to be unhappy, he wants you to do/act/be a certain way. That can be quite a burden itself … I am very familar with such nonsense.
Those who have more are often unsatisfied with what they have, but sometimes I think that’s the way it should work – if they are trying to fill a greater need with lesser “filling”. You know, like putting sawdust in a jewelery box. Nothing wrong with sawdust, just not what belongs in the box …
I suppose life is often unfair, but I don’t think that means we can’t find joy in it. My wife’s father, best friend, and brother all took their own life (at different points), but she figures out how to find meaning in life now. Amazing woman.
Righteous? I’d like to hear that defined. I can tell you with confidence that I’m not in that camp. Maybe there’s a club handshake we never learned?
The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike. I imagine that goes for sunshine as well, along with all the random goods and ungoods that we're sprinkled with. At least according to the Bible, which I imagine is your Pa's reference book in these matters. It's another matter what people feel they can put up with in order to recieve man-made (or man-alloted) fringe benefits. The "righteous" man, biblically speaking, may suffer more misfortune at the hands of men than the "unrighteous", as a direct consequence of his/her faith-steered decisions.
If I were there, I would help. I can try to do it from here.
I don't know too many people who are genuinely happy beyond the surface. I wish I did, and I wish you were one of them.
At least you have someone to comfort you in your current unhapiness, and care enough about your family in the first place for their opinion to matter. Well, your dad's at least.
All right, bear hug everyone.
Gar, you hit the nail on the head with the comment about my father. He wants me to be unhappy as long as I choose not to be one of Jehovah's Witnesses. But I don't think it makes sense to want someone to believe something they don't AND desire that they be unhappy as long as they don't believe what you believe. Naturally, they haven't spoken to me in 5 months. I guess that's just the tip of the chilly iceberg. I appreciated your view on the "filling". Your wife sounds like an amazing woman with great strength of character. I'm glad that there are some wonderful intelligent people who are interested in procreation. Working with the screaming, retarded public, one occassionally wants to see the demise of reproduction altogether. You and your wife are giving our species hope and helping us get an edge on the massive retard population. Heh.
Jeanne, you are always a help from there.
Chesty Festy, I had a porter last night! Naturally, I am rerferring to the drink rather than the bag-carrying sort. I also had some tasty Harp Lager. And some Old English malt liquor. They were all delicious. The order in which one mixes drinking OE and Harp really doesn't matter so much anymore. Does this mean I'm an alcoholic. Is there any room for me on that island of the fairy mounds and whatnot?
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