I met my first tranny the other night. I didn't realize it at first until I commented on how nice "her" dress was, and "she" replied with a much raspier than expected musky tone, which startled me, and my eyes usually give all my emotions away. For example: O__o (questionable), -_- (unamused), =__= (tired), *__* (bloodshot), #_# (dead).
I work with an eclectic mix of beautiful people, and I am so drawn to each of them in a different way, and I want to know more about them, bond with them, share my alienness with them, and just be their friend.
I'm very interested in learning more as to who my coworkers are, not just who they portray themselves to be. I don't mean to be some observer analyzing and evaluating, but I mean that I have grown up quite sheltered and it often puts strains on the love I want to so freely share with others. I want to be delicate with my words and actions, while at the same time stand my ground as what I know is biblically true and pleasing to my Lord. I pray that when I cannot say the right words, that my love will speak for itself.
---
I try to not be controlled by my feelings since they often betray truth, so this means I have to restrain my anger when something or someone upsets me, but it also means that I have to know that something is not right even when I don't FEEL it as wrong.
The joys and frustrations of knowing and understanding an invisible God
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Ticket, Tire, Toilet, and taking it to God
So after my horrendous stint with the flu last, last, last week, which during I had never more wanted the arms of my mother or father to rub my belly and tell me I was going to be ok, I came out of it with high definition clarity on two current agendas presently standing at the forefront of my thoughts. So, it was good, a good bad time. Ok, I wrote this entry a while back, and I don't remember what or where my thoughts on this were going...hehe. My Apologies. Sincerely.
Well, I woke up at 4:30am today, and made a breakfast burrito, that if made after noon would be no different than my lunch burrito, or dinner burrito after 5pm. I have it at least once a day, for one of my three square meals, not because of any reason aside from the fact that I enjoy it so much.
I had a weird week. Well, technically much of it can be accounted for for being a woman, but aside from hormonal imbalances, I was once again held.
When I began to experience freedom and joy, circumstances started getting terrible, and it took me for a ride. I tasted freedom from worry and anxiety, but I was like Peter when he began walking towards Jesus on the water. He looked down, I looked down, and he started to sink...I started to sink. In one week I had gotten a speeding ticket (for going 3 miles over the speed limit...practically), I ran over a pot hole in the road that completely tore apart my tire (I barely made it to the parking area), and while taking my kid to the bathroom just to pee the toilet over flowed and water flooded the bathroom (can you say panic and gross? yea.) haha. The first strike (the ticket) was not so bad, I was not shaken..much. My joy was in what lay beyond the measly inconveniences of a ticket. The second strike was also not too bad. Inconvenient, but not means for bankruptcy. A couple hundred dollars was not going to take away my newfound freedom and Joy. Then the third strike. It took me down, only because it was the day after the tire incident, and I even think that it was partially because I grew afraid that circumstances would keep getting worse the more I refused to let them drown my Joy, and I was already on stilts. I panicked a little. I have never had to deal with an overflowing toilet, so I guess I should have seen it as an experience to learn from, but at the moment it was just another bad circumstance, only this time it shook me. Broke me, and made me slip (almost literally). I cleaned up the mess (with two rolls of paper towels...who knew they were so absorbant!), and the ticket was taken care of with online traffic school, and I got a new tire at Sams Club. But despite all things being remedied, I had taken a beating. My ego was hurt, my head was a mixture of angry, disappointed, and ashamed. I was a rock climber who had slipped and lost her footing, only to be taken back a few feet, but mentally it was draining.
The following weeks were difficult as I let Apathy take over as it so easily does. I had very little will to fight it, and I just let it engulf me. Throughout the days following I had moments of wanting to try again, to find my Joy again, to remember freedom and how amazing it felt to not be affected by circumstances, but it was hard. I think it was mostly due to the fact that I didn't tell anyone about this. I had no accountability, no one with which I chose to share my burden with, and I was too prideful to lean on those who I know would have so lovingly held me during this time.
Then, as God usually does, I was nudged. Yesterday, it occurred to me that Joy was waiting for me, that I just needed to forget about wanting to appear a certain way, and flat out ask for help. For prayer. For love. And lo and behold, I got it the moment the words flew out of my quivering mouth.
...sigh...
It keeps happening, but people are made for people, and I am not a solo survivor. I need people, but I hate being or feeling needy so it's a constant battle against my illusory ideal of who I think I want to be. Sometimes it even feels right to want to be strong, independent, a leader, someone people come to for advice, a fighter. But I'm so weak. I'm so dependent. I need guidance. I need advice. I need comrades for every battle.
But most of all, I need to strive to place who I am in Jesus. Who I am is because of what Jesus did for me. Through Jesus I am perfect. I am not what I do or fail to do for Christ, but I am who I am because of Christ. I am reading a book called "Who do you think you are?" by Mark Driscoll and in it he reiterates the ever tolling and tumultuous circumstances the apostle Paul went through:
Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 11:23-27-
23 Are they ministers of Christ? (I speak as a fool) I am more; in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft.
24 Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one.
25 Three times was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep;
26 In journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren;
27 In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.
Then he goes on to say in the next two verses:
28 Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches. 29 Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?
Paul was more concerned about the churches he wrote to, rather than his circumstances (which were pretty crazy, shipwrecked, beaten to near death several times, naked?!, hungry!??! COLD?!...all of which I become immobile when such things happen to me). His joy was in feeding and helping others, and through that his joy was always in Christ Jesus, who is forever, therefore Paul's joy was forever. Those things, being beaten, being betrayed by friends, starvation, nakedness, did not and simply could not shake from Paul the Joy he had in Christ Jesus. They became a means to reaching more people to Christ, loving more, living more, and in the end dying with the Joy of getting to be forever with Jesus. It wasn't that he wasn't weak, or that he didn't burn inwardly with the desire to sin, but that his identity was not his weaknesses or in sin, but in Christ. My ticket, tire and toilet incident are so trivial compared to what Paul encountered, but the point is that our circumstances, atmosphere, situations, should not shift our Joy one bit. Not saying I will not feel sad or hurt or in pain, but when I do, I will turn to Jesus and trust in Him to bring me through such times, as He bore the ultimate sadness, hurt and pain on the cross for me.
I thank God for His mercies, they fall fresh on me like snowflakes melting across my cheeks. It is overwhelming how loved I am by God, shown through my friends, the outcomes of my terrible circumstances, and the peace that follows. Overwhelming. Overwhelming. Only tears. Breathing.
-JmeGrey
Monday, April 1, 2013
Le Confessional
There are many ways in which fear grips me, dangles temporary objects of satisfaction on a hook that hides the long term agonizing stab in me, pulling me away from home to be gutted and killed. Dramatic. Maybe. Truth be told, fear is not a joke, and when it plays with your thoughts, hiding doors of opportunity, damaging relationships, impairing your health, and all of that, you have to think about it to place it. To know what it is, what it really is, and what it will lead to, but also what would happen if you didn't let it have it's way. It's almost like when you're so hungry and someone places a plate of enchiladas in front of you (or whatever favorite food you might have), but you have this stomach virus that your doctor says will be quickly cured by a 3 day diet of fruit juices because the virus feeds on solid salty food. But you're starving. There are no juices around. You won't die from a few hours or even a few days of not eating, but you're so hungry. If you abstain from the enchiladas you will quickly heal and be able to eat them again in no time without any detrimental effects on your health. However, if you give in to the temporary satisfaction of even just a few bites during the stages of your virus, it will keep you chained to your sickness. Was it worth it?
It wasn't for me.
I had been searching for alternatives to confession, because telling someone how weak I really am shows and exposes myself like a naked bum. It's embarrassing and infuriating to be seen in such a way by the people you are "equal" with. It wasn't until I actually said something that the words "the truth will set you free" set a new fire in my heart. An understanding, a deep comprehension for what freedom really is. I'm willing to bet that the percentage of those who seriously confess all is in the single digits, because after my experience (which by the way was actually sort of forced on me, was first met with anger, but then my desperation to be free was so strong that I let it happen and it led to my path of liberation) I could not have imagined myself ever confessing willingly, but I had been praying fervently about it...so God does answer prayers, just not the way I had wanted Him to. Case in point. Though I am sure there are those who can bring themselves to confess, and they are beautiful to me. We are all broken in ways that need others to help us, but if we keep those cracks hidden they will just get lengthier and multiply. I can say that now.
---
"I need to be chained down until the perspiration of my disdain leaks through every pore, drenching me in its sticky odor until it keeps pushing out and onto the floor, where I can get up, after someone unchains me, and walk across the smoldering refuse and strip myself until I am like an apologetic child eager to be set right. To step under the stream of steaming clear water and wash away the remains that try to cling to me, sing to me, bade me to let them linger, but before I can entertain them, my choices, I let the water run shockingly, vigorously over my skin. And I am crying, but this time I don't try to stop myself, because no one is around and the raisin that is my voice box drops into the pit of my stomach, swallowed by the onslaught of sobs, so rhythmic and slightly melodic. It soothes me, going hand in hand with the currents of water sanding away those clingers, until I've exhausted my storage of tears and all that's left
is a seedling of hope."
JmeGrey
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Refinery
still. thinking. receiving. grace.
the eye of the storm will calm me,
the walls of confusion will swallow me,
the ground beneath me will shake me,
when the wind grows violent my hope will strengthen me.
To come out refined.
Stand, sit, eat, sleep, breathe and meet. The strands of my hours weave into a mural projecting my heart. Frays and stains all apart of the framework, a creation designed for beauty in the eyes of the Beholder. I am pieces of imperfections woven together.
Mmmm. I just baked some Japanese sweet potatoes from Whole Foods.
I keep realizing how my actions are not exclusively tied to myself. My choices affect so much, which can feel overwhelming, but also brings purpose to my existence, so technically without this reminder I am more apt to spiral into the desolation of existential turmoil. I am grateful for the people who remind me of this. The people who use words as well as actions to impel me to be free and good again. These people who may not even know the effect they have on my heart, it's all very beautiful to me; a moment of truth, vulnerability, honesty, brokenness, openness, desperation for help. To be helped or to help someone, there is only a very fine line when it is something that happens between two people or persons. I think we are designed for one another, to build a civilization, to communicate, to watch and wonder, to hug and wave to, listen and talk to, wait for, and at times to leave. I don't think we can be independent of each other. Of course these are my thoughts deriven from my beliefs, and I am imperfect, but how good it is to know someone who knows you, the frayed dismantled you, and remains in consistency whether in an embrace or from an arms length. Always visible, even when feeble to your torrent atmosphere, to have a friend with the courage to stay and bear your bearings.
To be this friend.
To have this friend.
Though something more amazing in all of this is to search out those who need this friend. To search for them, surprise them. Is this not what pumps passion into our hearts? To be beside ourselves with courage and enter some violent darkness with whatever flashlight or candle in our hands, shaking, but determined to look anyway. This is life. Those that suffer, and those that save. Always interchanging. I suffer, I am sought and rescued, I seek and save, and then again. Knitting the stitches, up and down, with an extravagant picture being put into motion.
Refining my heart in a fire; the joy of being refined through the suffering of the fire.
Maybe I'm thinking too much, but these are the things I am thinking...
JmeGrey.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Zombie Days
If it's not the harrowing 9-5 in creme colored corners and whirring water dispensers, it's the two or three or four hours doing whatever it is you're doing. When you have but only a few moments of genuine bursts of laughter, but end the night in some sort of trance, without the desire or concern for much anything besides your own comfort, it negates the laughter. Almost makes the gladness, dew drops of it sprinkled throughout an uneventful day, dissipate entirely as if they never happened, or if they had, become undeserved, bitterly stolen or accidentally dealt and then quickly taken away.
This isn't apathy. I know apathy. I have wandered in the vast deserts of Apathy, and this is not apathy.
This is life. Worry. Unmet expectations. A lack of vulnerability. The hermit that never left its shell, but remained warm and tired in the dark thin walls of a familiar casting with cracks. Why do I always speak in pictures and metaphors? It's become a language to me; leaving me slightly confused at those who do not speak the same way.
I just burned my forefinger on a hot glass cylinder (about an inch in diameter, 4 inches tall); after having smothered out my candle by placing a book over the top to suffocate the heat (if you have read previous entries I made the mistake of trying to blow out the candle once, resulting in hot melted wax splattering my unexpected cheeks), the book, for some reason, stuck to the top of the cylinder this time around. I, all too quickly, used my left forefinger and thumb to grab the tall glass candle (with my right hand holding the book) to pull them away from one another, and did not think the glass would be so searingly painful to touch. Pain. My fingers are still throbbing, sensitive to the touch, like a million microscopic needles pushing their way into my defenseless skin. I did, however, realize an important....or maybe not important, but definitely helpful understanding that pain does not usually instigate anger in me. I am not angry that my finger is in terrible pain, (although I am angry at my slight stupidity), in fact it humors me. I feel sadness too. Sad that it hurts when I touch it, because it takes away some of my comfort, but to recognize this brings me happiness too. I'm ALIVE! I can feel pain! Ow. Every time I touch it, it hurts. I recoil for a second, then smile. Recoil/sad then smirk and smile.
There must be levels for every emotion. Love, Fear, Joy, Sadness, etc. I know I'm on to something, but these four walls called "bedroom" do little to foster my thoughts. I can't think, or I can think, but I don't want to. This feels heavy, too heavy for now. I want to relish the light humor of my searing pain from the candle incident. I want to stay distracted...which now just makes me sad.
I will continue then, to find some resolve.
Funny people know when to laugh and when to keep a straight face. I'm still learning the craft of being funny, because I do think I'm pretty funny, but I laugh too easily/eagerly.
This isn't working. I'm going to go read. I have 2 books on loan that need to be returned before I writhe in inconsiderate-ness.
JmeGrey
This isn't apathy. I know apathy. I have wandered in the vast deserts of Apathy, and this is not apathy.
This is life. Worry. Unmet expectations. A lack of vulnerability. The hermit that never left its shell, but remained warm and tired in the dark thin walls of a familiar casting with cracks. Why do I always speak in pictures and metaphors? It's become a language to me; leaving me slightly confused at those who do not speak the same way.
I just burned my forefinger on a hot glass cylinder (about an inch in diameter, 4 inches tall); after having smothered out my candle by placing a book over the top to suffocate the heat (if you have read previous entries I made the mistake of trying to blow out the candle once, resulting in hot melted wax splattering my unexpected cheeks), the book, for some reason, stuck to the top of the cylinder this time around. I, all too quickly, used my left forefinger and thumb to grab the tall glass candle (with my right hand holding the book) to pull them away from one another, and did not think the glass would be so searingly painful to touch. Pain. My fingers are still throbbing, sensitive to the touch, like a million microscopic needles pushing their way into my defenseless skin. I did, however, realize an important....or maybe not important, but definitely helpful understanding that pain does not usually instigate anger in me. I am not angry that my finger is in terrible pain, (although I am angry at my slight stupidity), in fact it humors me. I feel sadness too. Sad that it hurts when I touch it, because it takes away some of my comfort, but to recognize this brings me happiness too. I'm ALIVE! I can feel pain! Ow. Every time I touch it, it hurts. I recoil for a second, then smile. Recoil/sad then smirk and smile.
There must be levels for every emotion. Love, Fear, Joy, Sadness, etc. I know I'm on to something, but these four walls called "bedroom" do little to foster my thoughts. I can't think, or I can think, but I don't want to. This feels heavy, too heavy for now. I want to relish the light humor of my searing pain from the candle incident. I want to stay distracted...which now just makes me sad.
I will continue then, to find some resolve.
Funny people know when to laugh and when to keep a straight face. I'm still learning the craft of being funny, because I do think I'm pretty funny, but I laugh too easily/eagerly.
This isn't working. I'm going to go read. I have 2 books on loan that need to be returned before I writhe in inconsiderate-ness.
JmeGrey
Monday, March 18, 2013
long walks and long talks
So I tend to over think things, but only to the point where I feel so overwhelmed that I just want to take a nap or do something to numb the feeling of hopelessness of utter confusion...and I rarely carry my thoughts out far enough to make some sort of detangling conclusion nor do I utilize the resources available to me (because I'm lazy). I find that long walks help me avoid just spiraling into a dismal place, especially when I walk with a good friend. Something about good company and moving my legs, fresh air, the sky, makes me feel less cornered. Even if the words we exchange have little to do with what's in my heart or mind, there's a strange connection between sharing stories, laughing, walking, talking, all of that stuff, that help me see again and again where I am. I don't want to keep looking at the future, because I'm only a phantom in the future. I am more me in the present, tangible, alive, seeing, breathing, speaking, laughing, crying, loving, singing.
Sometimes I slip down my thoughts and suddenly everything becomes a potential danger, to the point where I'm swallowed by fear and I have to go into the small corner of my mind where it's most safe, but really that's the most dangerous place to be. In a corner. I don't want to admit that I'm afraid, I want to be brave and willing, active and a voice amidst conforming slurs...but what I want requires more. I need God.
I am starting to be ok with feeling pain. To know that I will fall apart on some days, maybe even on most days for the time being, but the more I fall apart the more I come to realize that I need God, the One who created me, to make me whole. To be my joy. To be my reason for living. There's comradery in bearing the storm with/to someone, because we all need God for something, actually for everything. It's the part of laying down my pride to ask for this help that I need to get over, and then to be grateful when the person doesn't go running for the hills.
It's a struggle; some days more than others, but allowing others to see my struggle helps me find hope again. Hope anchors me to the light, long walks and talks are like a beacon in the storm of my confusion. I highly recommend them.
JmeGrey
Sometimes I slip down my thoughts and suddenly everything becomes a potential danger, to the point where I'm swallowed by fear and I have to go into the small corner of my mind where it's most safe, but really that's the most dangerous place to be. In a corner. I don't want to admit that I'm afraid, I want to be brave and willing, active and a voice amidst conforming slurs...but what I want requires more. I need God.
I am starting to be ok with feeling pain. To know that I will fall apart on some days, maybe even on most days for the time being, but the more I fall apart the more I come to realize that I need God, the One who created me, to make me whole. To be my joy. To be my reason for living. There's comradery in bearing the storm with/to someone, because we all need God for something, actually for everything. It's the part of laying down my pride to ask for this help that I need to get over, and then to be grateful when the person doesn't go running for the hills.
It's a struggle; some days more than others, but allowing others to see my struggle helps me find hope again. Hope anchors me to the light, long walks and talks are like a beacon in the storm of my confusion. I highly recommend them.
JmeGrey
Friday, March 15, 2013
Life on the daily, nothing spectacular, but pretty sensational!
Oh the woes of me.
I have failed to keep up with my blogging promises, but you should approve that it wasn't all because I was secretly judging people who said "Which Wich" or in one of my extensively drawn out pedantic moods...that was only part of the time. I've mostly been being very tangible; talking audibly, gesturing with my actual hands and eyes, walking from sidewalk to entrances, and thinking more loudly than I ought. Thus the avenue to express myself was stolen by good things, maybe even better things? than this blog. Unless you are from Germany and you happen to enjoy reading my blog. In which case, I stand by my woe-ing to myself. Oh the duplexity of life. Cold and hot, hungry and stuffed, laughter and crying; I fall victim to the tumult almost minute by minute.
(Say something meaningful)
...
...
Darn sandra bullocks. Everything I write feels forced and cheap. Bumper stickers. What am I looking at right now? Dresses. Yesterday it was so cold I felt like a corpse in my bed; cold limbs laying on top of one another, now it's only a few hours past and I see dresses. I'm wearing a tank top. I'm also wearing a shirt over it, but I contemplated peeling that off earlier when I was getting air pumped into my car tires...for free. :) I guess Spring is here, but she's pretty flaky so I'm not going to expect her to stay even for the rest of the week. Though it will hardly change my shivering discomfort whether or not I expect her to stay or not. Seeing these dresses is good, but then I think about how hot and sticky it will get, how I will soon be pining for just one more bitter night as the walking dead even though I know that's not what I want. This should be labeled something. Characteristics are generally as follows: wanting the opposite of extreme circumstances, mildly masochistic, agreeable only when sitting cross-legged indian style, loves sweet potatoes, and humorously observational only to self. Maybe that's labeled a "personality". It really does feel more like a condition though. Like dyslexia or narcolepsy. JmeGrey. Oh that would be kind of sad. A disease named after you. Like parkinson's or Asperger Syndrome. JmeGrey Disease: Perpetual extremes.
Sometimes I think about California, but I have yet to miss it. I miss my family and friends, but not all my family and not all my friends, but a good handful. The rest are loved but just not yet missed. Perhaps we tie ourselves more tightly to some people thus the farther we are from them the tighter those strings become until they are taut with the need for closer proximity, while others have yards and yards, miles and miles of string lying in loops and loose tangles on the floor. You could maybe circle the earth twice, thrice, frice (?) and it would still be slack. Doesn't mean you don't love them. Unless you define love by distance. Which seems illogical to me. Especially in this culture of apps. Long distance phone calls/ video calls/ emails, make communication so readily available. If it were someone you were in love with then I'd understand, hand holding is a pretty essential stitch to a lasting relationship. No hand-holding emoji would suffice. Aside from the romantic relationship, it is strange to think we don't really have a choice of how long or short our strings to one another are. So maybe they're not strings, maybe they're vines, vines can eventually grow but I don't think they get shorter.
I do loathe cliches but I just have to reiterate that Nashville folks are too nice. Some to the point of caution. "Would you like a free tour?" No middle aged man. I would not like a free tour alone with you at 10pm even if this is an art gallery...because you don't have a name tag or a badge. You're just nice. Oh, but thank you so much. (smiling big, looking so sincere; acting.)
There are a few people here on their computers/phones/notepads all conveying something, and I can't help but assume that they are half human, in need of tangible comradery. I want to ask them. Inquire of them on behalf of the masses upon masses who read this blog.
"Excuse me sir, what are you doing?"
(startled, looks around.) {why do they always look around?}
"I'm getting some work done."
"May I see?"
(shifting uncomfortably)
And that's when I would expose them. Then love on them. Buy them a cup of coffe (in which case I'd only be able to do this to 1 or 2 people). Ask them questions, even the really frivolous ones like "So, what'd you have for lunch?". Give them easy agreeable statements like "Can you believe it's already March? Time just flies."
I'd have to say stuff like that. Ease into the mind, greying, greying, darker greying, and then if I had the patience enough, reach their black core. This would take days, maybe weeks, months, years! Depending on how well I was at the easing, and how many layers of grey they had pent up in their heads.
Or maybe they really are doing work or just watching youtube.
I won't know. Because I didn't ask.
JmeGrey.
I have failed to keep up with my blogging promises, but you should approve that it wasn't all because I was secretly judging people who said "Which Wich" or in one of my extensively drawn out pedantic moods...that was only part of the time. I've mostly been being very tangible; talking audibly, gesturing with my actual hands and eyes, walking from sidewalk to entrances, and thinking more loudly than I ought. Thus the avenue to express myself was stolen by good things, maybe even better things? than this blog. Unless you are from Germany and you happen to enjoy reading my blog. In which case, I stand by my woe-ing to myself. Oh the duplexity of life. Cold and hot, hungry and stuffed, laughter and crying; I fall victim to the tumult almost minute by minute.
(Say something meaningful)
...
...
Darn sandra bullocks. Everything I write feels forced and cheap. Bumper stickers. What am I looking at right now? Dresses. Yesterday it was so cold I felt like a corpse in my bed; cold limbs laying on top of one another, now it's only a few hours past and I see dresses. I'm wearing a tank top. I'm also wearing a shirt over it, but I contemplated peeling that off earlier when I was getting air pumped into my car tires...for free. :) I guess Spring is here, but she's pretty flaky so I'm not going to expect her to stay even for the rest of the week. Though it will hardly change my shivering discomfort whether or not I expect her to stay or not. Seeing these dresses is good, but then I think about how hot and sticky it will get, how I will soon be pining for just one more bitter night as the walking dead even though I know that's not what I want. This should be labeled something. Characteristics are generally as follows: wanting the opposite of extreme circumstances, mildly masochistic, agreeable only when sitting cross-legged indian style, loves sweet potatoes, and humorously observational only to self. Maybe that's labeled a "personality". It really does feel more like a condition though. Like dyslexia or narcolepsy. JmeGrey. Oh that would be kind of sad. A disease named after you. Like parkinson's or Asperger Syndrome. JmeGrey Disease: Perpetual extremes.
Sometimes I think about California, but I have yet to miss it. I miss my family and friends, but not all my family and not all my friends, but a good handful. The rest are loved but just not yet missed. Perhaps we tie ourselves more tightly to some people thus the farther we are from them the tighter those strings become until they are taut with the need for closer proximity, while others have yards and yards, miles and miles of string lying in loops and loose tangles on the floor. You could maybe circle the earth twice, thrice, frice (?) and it would still be slack. Doesn't mean you don't love them. Unless you define love by distance. Which seems illogical to me. Especially in this culture of apps. Long distance phone calls/ video calls/ emails, make communication so readily available. If it were someone you were in love with then I'd understand, hand holding is a pretty essential stitch to a lasting relationship. No hand-holding emoji would suffice. Aside from the romantic relationship, it is strange to think we don't really have a choice of how long or short our strings to one another are. So maybe they're not strings, maybe they're vines, vines can eventually grow but I don't think they get shorter.
I do loathe cliches but I just have to reiterate that Nashville folks are too nice. Some to the point of caution. "Would you like a free tour?" No middle aged man. I would not like a free tour alone with you at 10pm even if this is an art gallery...because you don't have a name tag or a badge. You're just nice. Oh, but thank you so much. (smiling big, looking so sincere; acting.)
There are a few people here on their computers/phones/notepads all conveying something, and I can't help but assume that they are half human, in need of tangible comradery. I want to ask them. Inquire of them on behalf of the masses upon masses who read this blog.
"Excuse me sir, what are you doing?"
(startled, looks around.) {why do they always look around?}
"I'm getting some work done."
"May I see?"
(shifting uncomfortably)
And that's when I would expose them. Then love on them. Buy them a cup of coffe (in which case I'd only be able to do this to 1 or 2 people). Ask them questions, even the really frivolous ones like "So, what'd you have for lunch?". Give them easy agreeable statements like "Can you believe it's already March? Time just flies."
I'd have to say stuff like that. Ease into the mind, greying, greying, darker greying, and then if I had the patience enough, reach their black core. This would take days, maybe weeks, months, years! Depending on how well I was at the easing, and how many layers of grey they had pent up in their heads.
Or maybe they really are doing work or just watching youtube.
I won't know. Because I didn't ask.
JmeGrey.
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