Small talk Good Friday gone bad

People talking a lot is exhausting.
Pressure to listen.
Pressure to react.
So stupid.
So stupid to talk nonstop.
My brain can't even move.
Simple dinner sapped my life force.
Get.
Me.
Out.
Of.
Here.
I have no idea what the edification point was.
Your history?
I'm at a loss.
Function me to shower and bed.
That is all.

because

a non robot normal feeling productive living life human being

in circling conversations 

and the small talk abounded

in the small talk in the whatevers where you don't care about what I say and I don't care about what you say, really.

and then the climax of the theatrical goodbye and the deep embrace and the exhalation of relief. of climbing back into cluttered van where little voices beg for more audio Harry Potter and there's breath there and there's life there and there is freedom there. there in the just being of being. in the place of knowing the Others are gone and the destitute and the sarcasm and the silly and immature and the life returns where there are no tears and there is no pressure to conform to the norms and there is no pressure to be a smarty talky and there is no pressure to protect from the other imperfect parenting and the perfect small talk, so skilled and slick and smooth as silk and the answers and the ability to worm into the essays of the why i do what i do.

i do 

i do too

i say little for the pleasure of seeing the awkward. no, for the solace in rising above. of not being a slick small talker, just an observer and judge and audience. just a one to sit and sweat and breathe and wait impatiently for the waiting to be over and to run to the solace of the cluttered van. our cluttered van. that not loved perfectly but still running van. 

the freedom to bask in my freedoms, please. 

the freedom to love what is lovely about me, please.

the freedom to just be in the being, please.

Grinch Stole Mexico

Blame you. The thing you didn't do. The words you didn't say. The words you said that haunt and steal and creep and eat. Gonna delight in your weakness. Gonna smile when you admit defeat. Oh, the surety of the leader. Spouting words of wisdom. Pleading to the we to answer searching questions. Hate the let's. Hate the we's. Hate the what if we's. The commands to think and question inspire and motivate along with every wave of thought crazy brain thinks up. You crazy. So I smile at your weakness because I saw it coming. I am smug in your difficulty because your pride was evident. Because you put me down and ruined a part of me. Because you failed. I took the blame and hated myself. Surely no one could say such things without there being some validity to them! But you did it 'cause you crazy. For how you judge me, I don't like you. For how you disregard me, I don't like you. For how you preach instead of invest in your divine romance, I don't like you.

I smile. 

I smile because I'm right. I smile because you were wrong. 

I don't think I can help it now. I choose not to put up with that crap. I choose to stand up for myself when rude passive aggressive comments are directed at me. I look out for that poison now. I don't care if there may be a better way to do this, that, or the other, don't be rude because I'm quiet. Don't be rude to make yourself feel better and more snug. Don't say what doesn't need to be said to me. I'm not your clay. I'm not your project, your child, or your student. I will react to your disrespect and it will set me off. 

Had I fallen into and remained in my place of self loathing, self depreciative, thou art worthy servitude, I may have continued to be quiet and pining. I'm gonna break free of the power given to your words. Beak free of the condescension of your platitudes. 

I am not simple. 

I am not slow. 

I am not a less then. 

I am not lazy. 

I am not ill equipped. 

I am not uncaring. 

I am not your charity. 

I am not less intelligent. 

You would benefit from shutting up and learning to listen to what I have to say when I choose to speak. There is experience there. There is perspective there. There is value there. 

Remember to shut up and listen. 

Would you shut up and listen? Not to only hear your own pride and folly, but shut up to observe and absorb all that doesn't come from you. To value not you. 

Value not you because I won't value you. 

oh the anger

There are so many thoughts throughout the day.
Things I think.
I'd like to change a thing.
I'd like to let her know that the weirdness ruined that night to be.
I am not planning to attend.

And I've decided that I don't care.
No, I don't care.
Don't care if my opinion is the best, original, or regurgitated mess.
Can I just own my opinion in the midst of all the words.
So. Many. Words.
Because it's better than, it's less than. Less than equipped to love. Less than equipped to equip.
Do I care to be equipped? Do I care to be accepted?
All. Those. Words.
They're not for me. Not for me to soak in. Just for me to see and not hear.

"You know how to turn on the coffee pot, don't you?"

Talk like that and I'm driven away.

"Your mom forgot to tell you we don't wrestle in our house."

Talk like that and I'd like to slap some face.

"I'm so busy I can't handle all of this planning. And you're bothering me in the middle of the day. And there are these panic attacks. You do it. Say what?! Just kidding, I was just waiting on this one thing to line up. I'm on it. It's going to be a fabulous time. And are you coming to the par-tay?"

Not planning on it.

Well isn't it lovely that you are happy to not be me.

I'm gonna get away from that nasty and find a way to be accepted and not made to feel less than.
Yea, just away.

See me standing on these two feet? See me not in a mental hospital or bar or jail? See me loving my kids in my weak and flailing way? See my marriage not trashed and trust not lost but growing? I'd like some vindication. I'd like to hear you jealous of what I am, not you.
Oh, I'm so glad I'm not you....if I were that busy.
So glad I'm not you. I'd kill myself if I were that crazy. And how are the foreigners? Have you saved any? Or did you realize how selfish you are? Did you catch on to how unloving you are? How what you thought was hospitality wasn't?

Domingo sin refugio

How often do we make us do?
How often do we move ourselves when we just want to sit?
When there's no will to get up and go?
When inevitable is a cold awkward fish bowl.
When the thought of ensuing chitter chatter makes stomach ache and eyes blink and pits to sweat.
How many others suffer in silence?
The suffering of awkwardness.
A luxury, I'm sure.
Fifteen years ago Sabbaths lost their rest.
From sleeping in MTV surfing to small talk, snotty noses and see you next week strangers' hugs.
I'd rather...
Not have to think on it.
Not have to dread it.
Not have to make self to move.
If it looked like...
Others preferred over the self.
Scincere concern for next week stranger.
A refuge from all week's small things.

Maybe it could be an extension of sweet walk in riches.

Brain function gets muddled at times. Making light of this muddling is difficult. How do I simply keep keeping on in spite of the muddled brain? Could I take a break from the noise of the people I love? Could their voices be tuned out no matter how loud they become? Does my muddled self's need for quiet translate into unlove? Balance. Perhaps some day I will stumble upon something that looks like balance.