The next fork

A trip to meet with the experts, who will confirm yet again what I already know. I'm not sure I fit the typical criteria of a mother in my position, I want only the truth. I need to understand this force called life, even more now that I've pictured the walnut-sized organ in my mind, and men who decide instruments can rearrange just about anything, that invisible strength that draws us to try.

Or is it just a pump? A circuit in a cycle, none more important than the others, I just don't know. What's the difference between an old person whose organs are failing, when doctors admit, realize, or whatever, that living's not the hope. As compared to a newborn, willing to thrive on less oxygen for a while, and witnessing that "fight" that's just inborn.

It's the fight that scares me the most. My doctor said that no matter what the case, all life strives to stay alive. That's going to hurt the most. Can you picture me as well as I can, throwing up all through labor and delivery, typical birthing-style. Knowing the life that is traveling through me, squirming more loudly each and every day, will only survive for a while?

The worst pain I can imagine, followed by some sort of liberation I'm sure. I'll take them both.

Doubt is safer and wider

Like the plains. Sure, I once resided in an actual city, and dated a New Yorker with a REALLY BIG mouth. Just added to my life experience, and he lost me, never quite figured me out. Oh well.

I'm glad I didn't have to live my life beside that loser, pleasing his mother, and forgiving all the havoc he caused to my soul, or couldn't help. Because he's the one out there surgically removing cancerous growths right out of people's anuses, I inspired him to be a doctor, that's what I'm about.

Or so I keep telling myself. People can become what they want when they decide it, only makes it more clearly an insult when they don't. Be it an actual friend with standards that match mine, a concerned parent (but not the ass-kissing kind), or an elf.

Take the ex-boyfriend who couldn't choose me until he proved something to himself...didn't matter the timing, or the order, or the circumstances in the end. It was always only about respect. And he lost out.

Paint the town cyan

...it's the only color left. And with the refusal of the overly-white bred to even discuss sex slavery (for fear of offending the Princes, oh that). Might as well just keep living in the now and pretending that clean drinking water is a choice for everyone, isn't that right, fat cat?

Kanye, Kanye West. No clue how you'll ever, ever make your comeback. Not with the way your spine shivers at mere mention of reality, you know, fact? Look it up in the dictionary, I'm sure it's written in English. Hold on for a second while I waste my time to check.

Um yes, yes it is. Right under bitch slap. They've rearranged the entire order, and guess whose comfy at the bottom, your friend. So comfy, she didn't even realize that. Never bothers her even a teensy, eensy bit, someone more mature would probably like that.

Someone who wants no simpler life than to fully enjoy the experience of taking her kids to get their hair cut. Without being interrupted by Drew Barrymore who has nothing more profound to report on, than her flatbread being too bland.

Being unsure is better than hyperventilating

At least I get to be unsure out loud. Otherwise my thoughts just spin in unhelpful directions, with no anchor to ensure that I can handle it. Where's God? Processing everything, that can't be Him. It can't make sense that I'll be led into thinking "this could be the path", then right after it sinks in all the way, not even partially, another voice says "no it isn't".

Why do I have to walk them all, I ask.

I know the end result, and am quite sure I'm avoiding that path. Who am I to love children so much, then be forced to watch open-eyed as one is taken from me?

Still Saturday

Don't know why I don't want to leave the library. Probably the chaos at home. It's nobody's fault that my healthy, thriving family is being healthy and thriving in contrast. It's the part that gets me stuck. Like, so many years invested in lifting children up, to their highest, most secure, happiest child selves.

And what am I, an elitist? No room in my life for the discordant? That's what I mean about the perfect order to things, the getting used to life with shots, and accepting the many realms of possibility. Living in unique worlds is not only something I've mastered, it's probably the most important key. Or, it should be.

Moving forward without that light, that just stays there, and sets me free. Knowing that I get to carry on with that insight, the all day long distraction that always supports me. A wonderous world of delightful opportunities. And I'll pass that on to my young one, with prayers that it doesn't pass on before me.

Gotta look at both sides eventually, why not let it hit all the way home. Perfectly fits my philosophy.

Truth is...

All I really can concentrate on, what I need/want/pray for most. In my spare time, when not writing more dramas than a human can barely comprehend on this earth. Is lullabies.

I know it sounds ridiculous, that parents of bean sprouts need to imagine what it's like to have a precious newborn's life threatened...or to deal with what comes after as you chase for quality of life. But, it's in there.

Inside me, so don't take it if you don't particularly want to go there. But I'll be singing anyway, even though my voice sucks, just so someone precious can hear a rhythm that's familiar, and reliable, from its parent.

In between everything else, that will be important.

Finding the faith

You can't imagine the week I've had, most of it beginning yesterday. No, all of it began straight up yesterday...the good, the bad, and especially the evil.

First, I'd like to thank FX, not only for featuring my favorite man in fire uniform, but also a new favorite taxi cab driver. Why I hold out on myself, I'll never know. Puts everything in proper light, finally, at last.

The bad, well it's worse than I thought. Worse than I'd ever expected in my "boy, do doctors have poker faces when they lie" new phase. Oh, it's beginning, yes it sure is.

Am I grateful for the week spent oblivious? Am I surprised? About what I can't say, I can only write a dialogue for a play, no a sketch of some drama, okay?