Thursday, January 17, 2013

Feelings, Sponges, and Ducks

“She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.”  Tonight, Yours Truly is nervous.  Not sure why, but panic is seeping into my system.  Draining me of my ability to concentrate.  Leaving me limp and used up.  Like Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, sometimes it seems to me that living even one day is very dangerous business, indeed.   I worry that damn holding back my suppressed hopes and desires will break.  Water is already spilling over the levies.  Its just a matter of time before my heart pours out of my mouth.  Then, all will be lost.  I've lost my tough exterior.  I'm a sponge not and duck (ducks let things roll off their backs while sponges take it all in), asentimental, far too fragile, and scared stiff sponge.  Scared of my own feelings.  Scared of the panic welling up inside.  Scared that the sense of being far out to sea and alone will never pass.  But what can you do?  Throw parties, I suppose.  And remember to say what you feel because, in the end, maybe that's all that matters, what we feel and what we admit to feeling. “Peter would think her sentimental. So she was. For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying – what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt.” 

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