the moment it hits

All we really want, when we realize we've been terribly wrong, is to be forgiven. there is something to be said for the moment when you have to be brutally honest with yourself about what's happened, about what's happening in your life. That moment of complete truth can be a god unto itself, the Vishnu the creator and the destroyer both. It is metamorphic. but as a girl, as a human, I am weak in so many ways, and when I realize I've been wrong, the best way for me to find strength, is to find some tenderness in this great world which can plant the seed.

there's a moment when you look into a mirror and your heart is asking a question, and it's showing in every inch of your face, and your pupils become the tiny dots that sit at the bottom of every question mark. there's a moment when the mirror comes to life, and a finger points directly at you. and as every second passes it looks more and more like the pretend super death ray finger guns children play cowboys and indians with, and that gunpoint conviction is enough to nearly break you in half.

and we must choose. in the face of a threat whose only bullet is our own shame, we can either let the terror take us, and cry. We can be buried in it. Or we can see it for what it is, responsibility, waiting for us to take it up, to make it right.

Do you know me well enough by now to know that I have been making the wrong choice?

Because I most definitely have.

my little goldfish puck died last night. he was in a small bowl and i needed to go get an air pump for it, and i kept putting it off. I know he might have died for a million different reasons, the foremost being that he was a 28 cent goldfish intended for being fed to bigger, less peaceful critters; but it hit me hard.

Puck became everything i had been putting off, letting get away from me, using all the excuses of "I'm just going through something right now, I'm just under a lot of pressure." I was manipulating myself into believing it was ok to surrender, repeatedly, to what simply amounts to LIFE.

I've been letting that indicting finger intimidate me, and in the face of that imaginary threat, i've been quaking in my boots.

And so this morning, as the tears were threatening, as I almost gave up, the snow came. Fat drops, like flowers, falling everywhere, hushing all sounds, and upon closer inspection, upon venturing out coatless and mismatched; the tiny, breathless shhhh's the issued upon landing shamelessly on arms, on eyelashes, on ears and noses. Carelessly frizzing my hair with the wetness of it's absolution.

So yes, I suck a bit. I've been navigating as best I thought I could from some muddled crack of panicked resignation, but the goal today, for this week, because that's maybe all I can handle, is to start moving again, to stay in motion. And to let that inertia sweep me into saving myself.

I hope.