"Thank you for the dolls, and the pencils, and the fish. It's Easter now, so I hope I didn't wake you, but...honest, its an emergency." The Silence suffered a crushing blow yesterday but I fear not a total defeat. There's a crack in my personal armor. My brother says its an ordinary crack, but I worry it isn't. Because at night, my heart pounds, my palms sweat, and my fears increase. So please, please could send someone to fix it? Maybe a fireman [I don't care for the Fuzz]...or...well, I'm not sure who could possibly solve this problem...but I'm sure you can think of something.
With Much Affection and Confidence,
The Girl Whose Waiting
What? Shocked to see me writing a letter to Santa? Well, it IS almost Easter, I DID battle the Silence, and I AM afraid. Considering the circumstances, scrawling a plea to the Man in Red seemed like the most rational thing to do at the moment. And honestly, my Christmas sucked, so that Fat Old Bastard owes me. [In case, you're reading this Santa, that was just a joke. Haha! You know how those writer types are. Nothing personal] Listen, Kiddies, the stress of the last few weeks has transformed me into a veritable Princess Buttercup:
"The tears that kept Buttercup company the remainder of the day were not at all like those that had blinded her into the tree trunk. Those were noisy and hot; they pulsed. These were silent and steady and all they did was remind her that she wasn't good enough....The only time it really mattered, she wasn't good enough."
Yes, those steady and silent tears have kept me company of late. And in case you're confused, my Darlings, no matter what movies or books suggest, suffering is unpleasant. No sane person, wakes up, and thinks: "Gawd, I wish I were unhappy," as if misery, somehow makes life more fulfilling. No one concludes: "Look at that happy soul, well loved, shit together: the poor Bastard." As these thoughts swirled and danced around my frantic brain yesterday, I learned a family member passed away at the age of 28. Her life consisted of working at Walmart, health problems, and then death. Maybe she was happy, but I have my doubts. Her departure left me wondering, is life a Neko Case song?: "Margaret vs. Pauline" (See Below) "Everything is so easy for Pauline...fate holds her firm in its cradle." And Margaret, the "girl with parking lot eyes"?: "Margaret is the fragment of a name. Her love pours like a fountain. Her love streams like rage. Her jaw aches from wanting and she's sick from chlorine. But she'll never be as clean as the cool side of satin, Pauline." Perhaps, if someone had asked my late cousin she'd have believed me to be a Pauline. Yet, she'd have been wrong. We shared more than she realized. My heart hurts for what she will never experience. And selfishly, I begin to wonder again about the strength of the Silence, about my own mortality, about the people who I care about most, the ones I cannot bear to lose. You see now why I wrote to Santa?
"Don't you see? People start out losing small things, like noses. Pretty soon you start losing other things too. Its sort of an accidental leprosy." ~Kelly Link, Stranger Things Happens
|A Leap of Faith|
Like, Princess Buttercup, I bemoan my inability to be "enough" when it matters most. But, maybe, just maybe, I am taking that word "enough" too seriously. Because the truth is, my friends, I don't fall in love because of stolen glances, particularly witty statements, or anything based upon a person's current mood and exhaustion level. No one is pretty all the time. We're all going to get old. No one, no matter how brilliant, is clever all the time. The pressure to be so is ridiculous. Like Amelia Pond, I fall for the entire person, faults and flaws, for Rory the Roman:
"You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later, they're as dull as a brick; but then there's other people. And you meet them and you think, 'Not bad, they're okay,' and when you get to know them...their face just sort of, becomes them, like their personality is written all over it, and they just--they turn into something beautiful. Rory's the most beautiful man I've ever met."
In real terms, what does that mean? Well, I dunno. The real life application is still a mystery but for now, I've written my letter to Santa and I'm saying my prayers. Because you know what? The Universe is vast and complicated and ridiculous. Sometimes Impossible Things Happen. Well call those events Miracles...and that's the theory. In my 29 years, I've yet to see a miracle, but I've packed my bags, I'm sitting outside, and I'm waiting all the same.
*Below you will find Jessica's Daily Affirmations. Personally, I think I'm going to try this out tomorrow morning.