Coming clean

I need to release you
Only by releasing you can i release me
I thought we could be friends (in action, not just label)
I hoped you would try
I know friends can go a long time without communication
But when we were dating, you always got back to me
I base my confusion on taking what i perceived then as your norm
I said lets be friends
Instead you're my closest acquaintance

Recently I wrote to you
Did you disappear on purpose?
You responded
Disappearence unintentional--busy working, dating again, but like to hangout
Encouraged, I initiated plans
But regretted hitting the send button
Why was I orchestrating?
When you cancelled, I was relieved
Said you'd make it up to me
But we're back to our regularly scheduled program
Ours is a channel broadcasting snow

Intellectually I'm okay
I respect your living your life the way you choose
I need to move on
I need to heal
I need to let you go
I need to let you be
Without residual hurt
Without residual anger
If you're meant to be in my life, it will come to pass
But there is free will
And communication is a two way street
And I've used up all the minutes I can afford to reach out
Actions speak louder than words
Your actions (or lack thereof) are defeaning
I have to hang up

Thinking out loud

Tragedy is an opportunity to persevere over what appears to be. It's an opportunity to feel and ultimately find more compassion and understanding in events that upon initial scrutiny oozes pain. Tragedy would like you to throw in the towel. To collapse further into a quicksand of pain. This quagmire is even more dangerous than the initial outside element immediately linked to the pain. Because now, you're adding your reaction of grief into the mix--you've become the soprano soloist in the Opera of Grief.

Hindsight, fill-er-up!

So, someone else got the part.
I am optimism inclined. If my cup is looking half-empty, I am determined (how ever long it may take) to make some lemonade and “fill-er- up.”
I have chosen to believe that I live in a friendly Universe and that every perceived disappointment is in the grand scheme of things a blessing whether or not I ever get to consciously recognize said blessing.
I believe I must mentally contribute to my own wellbeing.
And sometimes the aforementioned beliefs are unsuccessful in keeping at bay the tears and sea of sadness that can flood, and so overwhelm my emotions at not getting a part.
Luckily for me, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve shed tears over not getting a part and in all those situations, Hindsight, that merciful goddess, showed me that it was indeed a blessing that I did not get cast. So dear Hindsight, I call upon and implore thee to work thy white magic.

R.I.P.

I killed a roach the other morning. Time of death was approximately 4:30am. I didn't wake up that morning planning to commit murder. But like John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

I swear, all I wanted to do was use the restroom. I wanted to use the restroom and get back to sleep. I got up, moving slowly, being sure to keep a light, but firm hold on sleep because she's a slippery one, that sleep. She has a reputation if you know what I mean. But she knew I was one of her biggest fans, so she didn't mind. I mean I'm a BIG fan of sleep and I didn't want her to get away. We have ourselves an agreement. If I was nice and gentle, she'd hang around. She didn't mind as long as I wasn't trying to force anything on her. As long as i was nice and gentle, she'd make it worth my while. Anyways, I digress. I went to the restroom hand in hand with sleep, turned on the light and that's when I saw him moving around in the tub.

My first thought was, "INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!" Sleep took one look at him, squealed and ran back towards the bedroom. I couldn't blame her. I'd do the same if this wasn't my place. But that was the thing. This was my place and he was not invited. And when it appeared that Christopher Columbus-Roach wanted to further explore the foreign bathroom landscape and dub it Roachville, I snapped. In that split second, I paraphrased an Outkast lyric making it my battle cry, "This is my house! I disconnect the cable and turn the lights out!" Springing into action, I got several cups of water, turned on the faucet and guided Christopher Columbus-Roach to his watery tomb.

Murder was the case that Columbus-Roach gave me and approximately two hours later, I had regrets. Sitting in the halls of Judgment, which incidentally looked a lot like my bedroom, Conscience presented her case. “Isn’t it true that there had been other options available to you? Why didn't You trap him in a tissue, open the bathroom window and set him free to explore the terrain outside the house?”

Conscience had me there. She's a smart one that Conscience. What could I do but come clean? I was my defending myself and I had no witnesses to call (sleep had run off a long time ago, and besides, she wasn't in the room when the deceased met his demise), so I took the stand. I looked at the Judge and Jury and confessed. “Conscience is right. I could have let Christopher Columbus-Roach live. I could have let him scurry away and left with my peace of mind intact. But I didn't. I committed this crime and I'm willing to do the time. But I want you to know I had an accomplice. I didn't do this alone. There was someone else in that restroom with me who is just as responsible for Columbus-Roach's death. Someone I'm sure many of you have encountered in your lives more times than you care to admit. He has many aliases: Flinch, Falter, Fret, but at the end of the day, we all know it's the same person. His real name is Fear. If Fear hadn't whispered in my ear, if Fear hadn't forced my hand and taken over my mind, maybe Columbus-Roach would have made it out safely. But Fear was there and he knew the right buttons to push, the right things to say to get me to see things his way. Fear knew how to get me to take action without giving a second thought to the consequences. I was afraid of Columbus-Roach multiplying and invading the house, my room in particular.
Roachy, you broke into my house. You made yourself at home in my bath tub. I was angry and I was afraid and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you Columbus-Roach. Next time, if there must be a next time, if there ever is a next time, I hope to consciously evaluate other humane options that will be helpful to Roachy and at the same time contribute to my peace of mind. I am sincerely sorry that i had a hand in your death Roachy. I'm sorry"

The jury didn't take long to reach a verdict. I didn't expect them to show me any mercy, but I did hope someone would look for Fear. I hoped someone would hold Fear accountable for the role he played in the death of Christopher Columbus-Roach and, I'm sure, in the deaths of many other victims, some innocent, some not so innocent.

The foreman stood up, looked at the judge and then at me. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be good.