Child of warmth

I spent the last 10 minutes typing an intro to this entry only to delete it. All I really want to say is, someone give the person responsible for this AMAZING weather a hug. It could do with a little breeze here and there, but geez Louise, how can I even think of living in a place where winter rips through part of the year?!


Ideal.

The man in the mirror (no, not the Michael Jackson song)

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and saw someone older. It could very well be the poor lighting in my bathroom, but I saw the same stranger when I washed the tangerine peel stain from my fingertips a few hours ago. Who is he? Where has he been? Why hasn't he spoken up sooner about the horribly humdrum ride he's been having?

He's me, obviously. He's been everywhere I've been. And I've turned a deaf ear to his rants and needs. We are equals but I discriminate him. I've never once offered my handkerchief to dry his grief. Why?

I remember now. He's not as harmless as he appears. I have reasons why I dislike him. Because whether or not I listen to him, he always finds a way to slip poison into my drink, my verbal tonic. He always finds a way to lace my thoughts with doubts and he always take me for granted. He cares too much for me but just as easily forgets my needs.

All to often I've been the backseat driver to my own life. There's a pro and con to this. On one hand, I get to enjoy (or dislike) the scenery. And on the other, I'm powerless to decide which scenery I'll be enjoying (or disliking). No...not powerless, no...never. Passive, maybe, but never powerless. Perhaps it's time to activate the emergency button on this ride and ask the stranger to help me read this sketchy, dismantled map.

Rambles.

Life is good. Do you think it's possible to throw yourself a curve ball? How often do we surprise ourselves? I feel it's often enough that it becomes unnoticeable and taken for granted. But once in a while an idea, whether a new discovery, or a seed planted ages ago, comes along that completely transforms you. Sometimes these ideas are pillow feathers blown in the wind; Unpredictable and deliriously amusing. The mundane air suddenly transforms into a batter of matter finally formed, dancing and caressed by these...ideas. These feathers.

I am the air. Today (I'm generalizing for relatively recent life events) a pillow commits harakiri (sepuku) and I am once again, changed. I am the air.