Masterminx

I opted to be alone today. I wanted to sink into thought like a warm bath and sweat out this ambiguity that plagues me. I feel so in-between that I'm not sure how I feel. I'm on the cusp of sadness, but I'm not close enough to feel it.

The rain seems to have respected my state, and has moved on. There are only a few errant wisps of clouds, lagging behind the big storm. Now and again, I can see the sun poking its fingers through the blinds, but it doesn't stay. It never does.

I dropped Wes off to spend the day with his buddies. It's our only respite from one another. I have been spending the day with CB, but not this time. Today is a day of reflection. As I drove out of Wes's friend's neighborhood, I felt something like a lead weight on my chest. A dark turn of the mind settled in, and I began to remember why I have been dreading this weekend so much. Remembering too long is a thief of life.

One street over, I passed a house with a pitched roof. A wild-haired woman stood on top of it, clutching a broom in her fist like a menacing Amazon. She looked fierce and primal against the dirty blue-grey sky. I tried to focus on what she might have been doing up there, and what her story might be. This distraction lasted me as far as the freeway entrance, where the memories came trampling over my imagined diversion.

On the side of the road, there were bunches of wildflowers in bloom: African Daisies, to be exact. These are very common in Phoenix, as well as Southern California. People here fill there entire yards with these flowers. They alternate groups of yellow flowers and orange flowers. It's a lovely, lovely thing to see.

That's what I thought when I saw them in February of 2001, at the intersection of the freeway and the street that my office building was on. There was a large divider where the road split to meet the freeway, and it was covered with these daisies. It looked like a great pool of sunlight that rippled with soft, fire-headed petals when the wind blew. I felt so in love with the city, that I was sure nothing could ever change it. Life was good.

Within weeks, my whole life was destroyed. Everything I had, everthing I was, and everything I wanted to be: all gone. I lost a lifetime of progress, and years of hope. All for some stupid man. All to keep a thing that I ended up running from.

When you achieve a perfect balance in anything, you must be very wary. A single grain of sand, a molecule, an atom, in either direction, will obliterate perfection just as handily as would a ton. Perfection is a dangerous myth.

I think that I have fallen out of love with the city. I have fallen out of love with life, in general. It's so hard to really love such an abusive spouse as life is. Life and I agree to disagree. We share a space, but sleep back-to-back like strangers. Life and I still remember our differences and hurt over the times we've tried to part. Life and I aren't staying together for the kids. We stay together because we're both too stubborn to leave.
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