Honest Talk With My Self

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I won’t lie to you. I’m not a liar, especially to you. You know me too well to even try. And well, here it is, what we’ve both been thinking.

I know I am a one-dimensional person lately, dipping more into that dimension the longer the Pandemic goes on. I am a person angst about the future like everyone else, while balancing on the tightrope of grief. And I know you hear it in my dull tone and apathetic responses, see it in my eyes and feel it with each missing touch. You have to because I do.

I know you haven’t heard the laughter that once lit me up, the humor that once lived inside an important part of me, in some time. It only comes out occasionally, peaking its head out of a hole like some scared prairie dog. Sometimes, I am sure you hear the forcefulness of a chuckle and you know, I am this great pretender. I don’t do chuckles. Yes, there are times when my laugh, the deep laugh given to me by mother with a bit of squeal toward the end inherent probably from a distant ancestors. Those are the times I am the genuine person we both like.

I am no longer as sardonic, not like I was. You haven’t heard consistently heard many of my one-liners, and those are what I do, or did. I used to peppered my conversations with them as regularly as a chef giving spice to the banal. If I could talk when I was born, I am sure sarcasm would have rolled off my baby tongue the minute the doctor went in for a slap on my behind. It’s part of me. You know that! I don’t try to be mean – that’s not funny – but I do like a witty observations or tease, to give and receive. And I have perfected mine. But now, I don’t even poke fun at myself. I know you noticed all of this missing lately.

I know you saw the dreamer in me awakened by the harsh realities of my time. Gone are its bright-eyed and rainbows attitude. No more words spew out of the dreamer on how life has to get better, will get better. Doom and gloom has beaten down my dreamer and its too weary to rise. So it lays there submissively, like a dog to its master, just waiting for a rub on its belly to arouse it once more. Until then, it’s in a constant stage of whatever, and you and I don’t like that, do we? I can’t even pretend to say happy shit we both I don’t feel. Sometimes, I do feel it and those are great times, almost like the dreamer is stirring. Most times, it lies in a state of affect mood.

You saw how last week’s ten month hit me hard, didn’t you? Hell, you’re the one who heard me cry like I haven’t cried since Peter died. It’s taken me awhile to process why. You know I have to have a why which sometimes is the entire reason I am this different person. Peter’s death had no answer to that question. All I know is the more the months go by, the more I am away from him, from the part of me that was him, and loosing both hurts. We’ve talked before about his importance he was in me and my definition of me. Now, without him, and farther out from him, I am not the same person. The more the months that go by, the more hurt I feel from missing him longer. I told you it was a lie. Time doesn’t really heal. It scabs over, but heal is too big of a jump.

I have told you for awhile now I think I’ve become a bore to some people. I’ve become all about my grief. We know of a few people where I can express my grief, and when acknowledged, we delve more into something more. It’s when its left ignored, like a distant memory they weren’t part of, is when I become this bore, trying to explain my emotions in all of this. I have to stop to try to explain my grief to people. They don’t get it anyway. Maybe they never did. Maybe it wasn’t theirs to understand. But again, pretending doesn’t fit me well, does it?

It sucks for us right now, for me and for you, my Self. We were both hoping I would be farther along. It seem the one major part of us – impatience -hasn’t left. It hangs on us like this albatross. I know we have moved and grown and then the pandemic stopped again. The pandemic has stopped the world, really. No one can get anywhere in a journey when your stalled. So then we have ask ourselves, my Self and I, if we can learn from while we sit here. Perhaps we can take this time to incubate, knowing emergence will eventually come and how all of that will look. Sure, it’ll take some taps on the dreamer. But maybe we could do it. Should do it. Have to do it. And maybe we can look for the humor in all of this, since humor is not with us right. We’v now. We always thought humor is out there to be found. Oh sure, in all honesty, and in the words of Bruce Springsteen, I do get ‘tired and bored with my self. ” For now, though, here it is and here we are. Let’s see what we can do, in all honesty.