Too Many Cracks

 Looking down is often what they instruct you not to do, but I tend to break all the rules. Looking down isn’t particularly helpful, and won’t fix anything; but there isn’t much else to do.

What is down? Can’t see the bottom, don’t know what waits. The ropes creak with tension sometimes, and sometimes a storm of falling objects come, by some wind or other disturbance of the plateaus above.

There isn’t a way out; there isn’t resolve. As long as I have strength, I’m doomed to hold, and if I stop, I fall. Down. Down there, into the unknown.

The Window

There wasn't a lot of money growing up; just a lot of scrimping and saving and trying to get by with what we had. It's not a lot different now, actually. I still scrimp and save and try to get by with what I have. I work hard though, and I dream of some help coming some day.

Some time ago, I moved into a new home and began to set up my meager posessions and to arrange my tiny area to suit my basic needs. It isn't great, and there are problems, but I guess it will suffice. It's grown on me a little over the years, and I've worked hard to try to get by here. It's not much, but it is home.

When I first walked into this home, I noticed a large window. While observing through the window, I saw someone also moving into her new home. She seemed to always have help. Someone helped move her in and get her settled, and someone always appears to be there for her when she has needs - in fact, someone often seems to anticipate her needs.

I sometimes feel like a drudge, always doing the same thing every day, struggling to get through. The kids are a handful; they don't seem to understand that I'm here to help and love them. Why do they not understand? What I ask of them is not earth-shattering; it's just a little school, some responsibility around the house to help keep it nice, and the hopes they will love eachother and treat eachother well. But it feels like each day I have to start all over, teach them again to be responsible, and how to do basic things. It's such a struggle.

The woman in the window is always very smartly dressed. She seems to have shoes for every occasion, and I've never seen her hair messy. It's like she steps out of bed like that; so effortless. She, too, has kids. They seem really happy. They do everything together. She seems to have time for so many projects and adventures; they're always going out somewhere after school is finished. And she always seems to have help. With anything and everything. Sometimes someone even comes just to talk. And they talk. And talk. And talk.

I don't see my family much. I miss them. It's hard to understand the dynamics of family - everyone seems to be different. I feel like I'm the only one I know who has such a hard time with family. Some of them won't talk to me at all anymore; I didn't even do anything. They just disappeared. There weren't even many to start with. Just another way I am basically alone.

Through the window, I watch as she goes to visit her family. She even has family come visit her, and fairly often. It must be nice, to have your family care about you.

At work, I earn almost nothing; if it wasn't for the kind people there I wouldn't continue, probably. But then I don't know what I'd do for money; there is always something that comes up that I have to deal with, and I never have what I need when that happens. It's so frustrating that I can barely make ends meet. And there she is, whenever I look throug the window, not having to worry about anything because someone is always there to take care of her needs; all she has to do is ask, and her life is presented to her on a silver platter. It would be so nice to feel like that.

At almost every moment I feel completely alone. I have become very envious, watching through the window. In fact, I have grown to hate her. She is perfect, wanted, successful, and admired and adored by people she knows. I'm invisible and unremarkable; I'm not even sure I want to know what people think about me; probably just bad things.

It seems that, no matter how much trouble she experiences, the woman in the window has very successful days. She has someone to call for help when her kids act up. Her house is always clean. Her meals are always served on time. She often just takes her kids and goes to spend time with various friends.

Ha. Friends.

A friend really hurt me a few weeks ago. She made an outrageous disparaging comment about one of my kids and I just wanted to cry. She doesn't understand. She doesn't live here, she can't see everything that happens or how my kids treat me every day. So much for that friendship. She's not the only one, though; most the people I know act like that. They can't understand my life. Even my family doesn't understand my life.

Meanwhile the woman in the window gets nothing but compliments and help and useful friends who adore her and her kids. I hate her so much.

Yesterday, I got tired of watching the perfect one going about her perfect life with her perfect kids and perfect friends and family. So I decided to smash the window; maybe I could board it up or something, but I just wanted to destroy something. So I took a metal baseball bat to it.

As the glass shattered, so did my soul; the window was backed by black felt, and a wall.

The window was a mirror.

Emotional Influence

 Humans are influenced by every experience we have. Especially our emotions are influenced. Sometimes external influences even succeed without us even realizing it. This is worth considering since it is a little insidious.

One example when I find myself often swayed or emotionally deviated is after a movie. It doesn’t have to be any particular genre, but a well made movie can wrap a message and its influence into multiple facets - music, dialog, even facial expressions or scenes perfectly timed to get a point across. I often walk out with feelings or thoughts that I had not previously considered. Sometimes they are absurd, and other times poignant.

Recently I had this experience and I spotted it as it was affecting me, but it did affect me all the same. I came out with the question, “Why do we play these games?”

Why do we play the games? Words meant to elicit a particular response, or responses designed to express strong emotions, positive or negative, but intended not to be complete by themselves. Always attempting to build a desired thought or feeling in someone else to inch us closer to one goal or another.

When emotions are especially high, these influences can often be more potent than during other lower-emotional states. Sometimes the question, “Why?”, is expressed in desperation. Sometimes in mere curiosity.

And when I am in an impossible situation, where there is no possible good ending or easy path forward, my question is lost in the din, drowned out by the wailing pain in my heart; I can’t move forward, and I can’t move back, there is nothing in either direction, only the now.

Everything seems in these moments of fruitless questioning to both be in a stalemate - an impossible circumstance - and also in slow motion.

Where do I go from here? I have no idea, though I am still asking my question; “Why do we keep playing this game? Where is it all leading?”

I don’t know, but I wish I did.

Name That Type

I love you. But I fear you. I know that everyone is different, and I don’t know how this will go.

But I only want you to know that I love you, nothing of the fear.

I jump into things without considering risks. Well, at least things having to do with people. I also forget to consider effects on myself.

I want you to be loved, no matter what. No matter the cost to me.

They say I draw my energy from you. Perhaps. More likely I spend more on you than I draw. But that is another thing I hide. Why be a downer? Nobody needs to know that part.

Best everyone knows only that they are valued and important; not of any ill effect to me.

Money is no object - sometimes it’s not even there. Time isn’t too much of a consideration, sometimes to the detriment of those under my responsibility. What is important is going that extra mile (or 100 miles) to demonstrate loyalty, appreciation, solidarity, availability, a dependable help in a time of need.

Or any other time. Did somebody tell me you’re moving for the 5th time? I’m there!

Sometimes I play into a trap, because it’s more important to do my best and be present for you than to discern what your purposes for my presence in your life is. At least, that’s what my nature drives me to do, even if the anxiety and uncertainty are playing out as the evidence of abuse stacks up.

But surely nobody would take advantage of me; it must be that I was not helpful enough, or giving enough, or kind enough. But it’s worth noting, so I can improve in those areas.

Bedtime is long past, but why would I ever even consider kicking you out? You’re here with a need. Or a chest full of difficult experiences to unload. Or a desire for company that supersedes petty sleep. I’d choose to give the time in a heartbeat, certainly before considering it.

The crowd coming today is intimidating, so many people, gotta bump the budget; perhaps I will get a chance to sit sometime during the event. Or not, no worries; no matter. I’ll sleep later, sometime. For now, I have to be the momentum carrier and the “perfect host.”

I am exhausted, but I don’t want you to know.

I’m stressed beyond imagining, but I don’t want you to see it.

I need to have some downtime, but I can’t imagine when it will be.

I don’t know where I will get the energy for that next gathering, but it would never enter my mind to cancel it.

Hello, I’m the extrovert, and I’m here for you. You’ll never know otherwise, and you’ll think that I thrive on your presence and have nothing the least more important than talking to and listening to you. Because I love you, whoever you are.

No matter what, I’d have it no other way.

For Mrs. Mulvey - A tribute

I can't tell you enough to do justice to the experience; my feeble representation of the events and feelings can serve only as a guide to your imagination on the topic. It was a night of unsurpassed realization of everything I had dreamed about for so many years.

Her green eyes sparkled as they locked onto mine, and as she spoke those words, my heart, body and soul were hers. I couldn't see anyone else the whole time, and time itself passed as if a dream while I watched and feared to pinch myself for what may disappear. There are no words which can describe that feeling, the overwhelming powerful urge to laugh and cry and scream and dance and jump all at the same time, all for the same reason. But it is paralyzing, as if, in my mind, I was doing all of those things, but I couldn't even bring my body to move a muscle; mesmerized.

And it didn't stop. The same feeling again, the joy, the ecstatic, the nearly lunatic happiness, came at the birth of my first daughter, Ariel. I held her in my hands, so small and fragile; such a miracle. Again, holding my breath, I was paralyzed and unable to do anything but just marvel at the gift I held before me. Who can describe that? How does one use imperfect words to describe that perfection?

Its been 58 years now since those green eyes sparkled at me across the minister's Bible, and I am every bit as lost now in her glance as I was that night. Though I may appear strange to others, I continue to admire the beauty and watch her through my own failing eyes. And I still see the same girl. Though her physical body may be changed, and not what we may call beautiful in this world, I know what is there underneath it; for I know her, and not just her beauty.

She forgot we'd moved to the small country house recently, and asked when we were going home. I think her memory may be failing her, but she still knows me; I drove her home as she requested, and she fell asleep in my arms on the bench in the front. Still so small and quiet, I remember the early days when she would fall asleep so suddenly, right in my arms where I always wanted her to be. I could tell when she was still falling asleep, and the moment she had arrived - and I would gaze down at her and admire her perfect face. She still looks the same to me, her hair a little more grey now, but still beautiful in the sunlight.

She doesn't know me now, wondered who I was and wanted to know when I would leave. I suppose I will need to get some help to see what would be best for her; I cried this morning, it broke my heart. But I still love her. I wonder what she is thinking? I wonder what goes on in that incredible mind? What does she feel? What does she need? Is she lonely? I am a little lonely now. I don't really want to eat, or do anything for that matter. Will she recognize me one more time? What will her eyes say?

I'm alone now; she lay still this morning in my arms, and I could tell she wouldn't move again. I stared blankly out the window, still holding my love in my arms. What now? Can I survive without her? What can my life mean without her? I am struck with a profound loneliness, and lean back to sleep. I don't think I'm going to like this very much. I am sad.

Its been two years since she left me, I hardly know what to do. Its always quiet around here, everyone is really respectful. I bought back the old home, you see, in her memory. But now all I can see are memories - there are so many of them, all over this house, and my heart breaks every time. I miss her, I don't want to be here anymore. Take me home Jesus, oh please take me home.

Words - by Ritika Khanal

Words words words. I love words. I know that the number million is not common, but it kind of is. There are not many people who actually have a million dollars or a million things. They just say that. But there are some things that are very important in this world and there are more than a million of them. In this world there are more than a million words. What would we do without words? Words words words, wonderful words!

Words are words and no one can take them away from the world. All the different cultures and countries all have different words. Its so amazing. Who thought of all this?

People that can not talk still know how important words are. People that cannot hear still know about words. The whole world has to go with words. If there were no words then the world would be a mess.

How would the President be making things worse? How could the President come and make people vote for him? How could the President be making the country really poor and bad? How could he do all the bad things and all the lies he is making? How could he do all these things to ruin our country without words?

How could people be on tv without words? Half the things they say are true and then throw some lies at the end. No one could do these things without words. All the money advertisers get from commercials they get by lying. But some get their money by honesty.

Wordless music is not as fun as singing. If we did not have words than we wouldn’t have singing. How could slaves survive without music? Most of all, the only reason we have music is because of words.

Even deaf people are still able to do signs with their hands and talk. How they talk is with words. Their hands are representing words.

Words are necessary work and school. People are going to work and it is because of words. How would the boss hire them and how would everything be? Now here’s the thing, how am I and all my friends going to school without words? It is all because of words. How would teachers teach? How would we make friends?

How all these things are happening is because there are words in this world. They go together really really well. They are best friends.

Just a part of being Daddy

She makes me laugh a lot. When she squeezes my finger and grins from ear to ear; when she calls out in that tiny voice so joyfully. I relish each time, and look forward to the next.

And sometimes she makes me cry. She is unaware, of course, and it's not intentional. She just wants that one thing I can't give her; something Mommy alone can provide.

Tonight is one of the latter. It breaks my heart and strongly pushes me to break down in great sobs - I can even feel them at the edges of my eyes, awaiting freedom. She is screaming. There is nothing she wants more than Mommy. There is nothing I can do to bring her smile, and she knows it. Yet here I am, holding her, desperate to find some way to hold her or cuddle that will bring me nearer to her heart; caressing and stroking her cheeks vainly in attempt to bring her solace from the sobbing and screaming.

But to no avail.

And there she comes, there is Mommy. One glimpse and there is silence, hopeful wet eyes will Mommy forward, and a smile breaks the snot-drenched lips I wish so desperately would smile for me too.

I know it is not abnormal, and I even know this won't stop here. There will always be a toy, friend, boy, or husband who will bring her more happiness than I can, and it will hurt the same every time - perhaps hundreds of times - it is just part of being Daddy.