Wednesday, November 19, 2008

she cries when she's laughing

I wish I could go through one day – two in a row would be spectacular – without crying. I wish I could talk about things that get under my skin without crying. I wish I could just walk to my car or drive home without crying. I am so tired of the tears soaking my hands and my clothes, my eyes burning, my face tightening when I try to stop it, and my breath catching in the cold air.

I just don't want to go through it all every single day.

Is that too much to ask?

But I don't know how to begin to make anything better.

Part of me is excited about the holidays getting here, but the other part is dreading it deeply. All the people, the money, the waste, the empty spaces that our mothers once filled... I wish I could stop the calendar until I'm ready for it to be here. But when will I be prepared for it? Maybe I should instead wish for it to come faster so it will be over with. Though, I should just let things happen at their own pace and try to see the brighter side... the music, the family we do still have with us, the gift-giving, the food.

I should talk about it more, but I don't see what purpose it would serve. I can't even form my thoughts into written words, needless express them verbally.

It seems pointless to even try anymore.

Is this normal? When will it stop? When can I live again? Why do I just sit and cry about it when it only makes me feel worse? Is it the loss that's causing me to feel this way? Is it something else? Is it O'Malley? Is it me? Am I warped in ways other than the obvious?

I want to stop writing now.

That is at least one thing I can control.


posted by Jennifer at 11/19/2008 05:33:00 PM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hi Jennifer, The name I go by of late is Erica.You spoke of the spaces our mothers fill .I was looking at resipies for natural paint .I had an early memory of cleaning silverwear with my mother after every meal because chalk is in the recipie for the paint .My mother always taxed the environment as little as possible .I remember words like husband and car.From that time period in my life,however,the car was never ridden in.The grocery was a short walk .At the store the same person commenting"Isn't she pretty,had a wife who always wanted to know how much money we had.After commenting on my beauty he would put his arm around his wife.Not untill his wife called a social service agency about the sorted out baskets of reusable matterials in the back yard was I taught,in sighn language that beauty is only skin deep.The fist worker to show up wanted to know when something was going to be done about my pre-hensile tail .Monument to a world that doesn't get it.Like the reason for your endless tears need to hear of the reasons for mine. Nice to meet you ,Jennifer I don't remember what my name was.Nice beads on the March 25 page.I'm partial to two I own made of bamboo grown corral.Due to rareity I think it should now be considered a commodity. It would humor me greatly to see rich greedy people, instead of buying more land to mine gold [what year is it anyway]toput healthy corral in as high a demand and start taking public transportation.Biofuel is a package name just ask the Bornians.

4/05/2009 01:30:00 PM  

Blogger Jennifer said...

Is this a bot comment? Hmm...

4/05/2009 04:04:00 PM  

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