Song of Ruby Woo

By: L.

Jun 16 2017

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Category: self

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Hey, there, you, let’s have a smile.  Let’s smile not because things aren’t FUBAR or that things are improved with a bit of effort and an emoji’s worth of contact.  Let’s smile because, whoosh, life is better with that slight dusting of humor incorporated.  The nutmeg that you can only taste on the periphery of your palate – that makes all the difference even if you aren’t sure it’s there.

I have not been wildly funny lately.  Borne down by the hugeness of the change of life.  Not that I’m promising Phyllis Diller around here, my usual patter has gone to shit, obviously, but it is nice to think about a future that make sense and where I can…do things again that make me happy.

The Secret Knickers Project has been reborn.  I’ve only allocated $25.00 to it, but that, I believe, is a start of something that will make me feel glorious.  And I don’t really mean the knickers themselves, whatever those turn out to be, but instead, it’s the idea of being secure regardless of what happens.  Of having what I need for myself and having things covered and handled and really, ultimately, having a chance to respect myself again.

I feel like if I have that earnest respect once more, I won’t hate myself for driving a car I can afford just because it’s an upgrade and a newer car.  I won’t have this significant feeling of shame around the junk I leave lying about the joint here, and I’ll just up and do things about it.  I’ll be eating better because I won’t have money to burn on every last restaurant in town so I’ll feel better and calmer.

As for you, sir, damnit all.  I cannot leash you or claim you or demand you turn up at my doorstep every morning with a smile on your lips hand extended to greet me.  Life, lord knows, is pummeling enough as it is and that’s when things are doing alright.  As I lay here, thinking about the past six months, I don’t even know what to say about it.  How like a cool breeze blowing over an arid land, how like that cliched rainstorm that settles into the earth and awakens the seeds scattered just below its surface.  It was life, in its own, weird little, phone-based way.  And the changes, could I have fended them off by being other than I was and am?  I think sometimes that if I were more like her, I would not find myself in such straits, it would be obvious that this is good land because I would be full of flowers and rushing streams and trees that threaten the sky with their height.  You wouldn’t be able to deny it.  It would be all-consuming, powerful as magic, and it would have you in its grasp the same way your insidious reach has found my heart.  I need more than nothing.  I need more than silence.  I need, even knowing your pain, to not hurt.

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