Keep My Words

“And then I ran away,” I told Dora. It was the end of the story. She had asked about him, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it up. “I should have been strong and tough. I should have stayed and acted like I didn’t care. It was embarrassing.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Dora said. “It’d be more embarrassing if you acted like you didn’t care.”

…

I have been trying to write this blog for hours.  The task has proved difficult because although I swore not to censor my writing, I also don’t want to make accusations or speak about a personal life other than my own.

So, I’m at a loss.

To be vague, I can say that the realization I had Sunday has completely stifled my appetite and caused me to feel very like a fool.  (I hate feeling stupid.)  My faith in humanity is declining rapidly.  At the risk of sounding pathetic, I wish someone would save me from the complete and total cynicism threatening to paralyze my ability to enjoy daily endeavors.

Was I playing with fire?  Maybe.  Mitchell said I invited this to happen.  That may be true, but I still think I have been deceived.  I want to confront the source of this supposed deception, but it’s pointless.  If this person meant to take advantage of me, he/she will continue to beguile me.  And if there is truth to be told, I will have no way to differentiate it from lies other than my own judgment, which is currently impaired by what I have seen and heard.

Again, I am at a loss.

Somewhat related, while I was typing blog notes into my iPhone last night the Rev. said something about his life being ruled by melancholy and over-dramatic-ness. I imagine that some of my writing can appear this way: melancholy and over-dramatic.  Is it intentional?  Of course, sometimes.  A good writer will alter the details if it helps to emphasize his/her point, or if it simply makes the piece more entertaining.

Additionally, I found it interesting that Dora mentioned my Grandma yesterday.  (“I love that all she wanted to do was eat donuts, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes.  She was an amazing woman.”)  Last night at Union Pool, the Rev. played a song about his grandmother called “Dorothy”.  He told the crowd that her husband died when the Rev. was only two years old.  My grandfather also died when I was two years old.  All of this is just coincidence, but it remained in my thoughts.

Also, in between the Rev.’s sets, Mitchell and I were talking.  Though my desire for food has dwindled, I have maintained adequate interest in staying alive.  Therefore, I was forcing myself to eat some raw cashews from a plastic bag in my purse.  I offered Mitchell some cashews.  “It’s pretty much all I have eaten today,” I said.

I have mentioned that my friends are amazing.  That this is an understatement was confirmed by Mitchell’s response: “Together, we can eat a million peanuts.”

Tags: mavis elinore walker, reverend vince anderson and his love choir, union pool

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 1st, 2009 at 9:55 pm and is filed under Words. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.