Obviously, I'm still having computer problems. (Would you believe the screen on the laptop broke?) I'm borrowing a laptop today and I'll do what I can but my obsessive blogging capabilities are a bit down at the moment. *sad face*.Moving on: Since I'm here now, I thought I'd share with you something I wrote this morning. My mom had to put my cat December to sleep this week. He was 12 and a good cat, but crippled since birth and in increasing pain the past few months. My mom was so heartbroken over this cat's limp and I wondered, how can you care so much about a cat you don't even really like but it didn't matter for me to walk with a limp all through high school? I guess she doesn't think the cat is faking it for attention.
Someone eats your soul for supper and you wonder why it hurts
We battle one another, but grew up while viewing births
And I wonder if you'll ever love me, like I heard a mother should
Mom, I know you won't believe me, but I tried so hard to be good
But good enough's not good enough and perfect is impossible
I thought I was imaginary, turns out I'm just invisible. Invisible.
I reached out to hold your hand. When will you take mine?
And loving you is like self-defeat. It's only in my mind.
Who needs sleep when I can worry?
Who needs rest when I can hurry?
Who needs to eat when I can fake it?
Who needs to eat when I can fake it?
Children need love, yet I made it.
Someone eats your soul for supper, and you wonder why it hurts
We tear each other down and our accidental births
And I wonder if you'll ever love me, like I heard a mother should
Mom, I know you won't believe me, but I tried hard to be good
Now I've found reality. It's painful, but I'd rather stay.
You can keep denying me, but I know I'll be okay. Someday.
I reached out to talk to you. When will you hear me?
You can't seem to see I'm real even when you're near me
Who needs sleep when I can worry?
Who needs rest when I can hurry?
Who needs to eat when I can fake it?
Children need love, yet I made it. Somehow.
Someone eats your soul for supper, and you wonder why it hurts
We poison one another. We've been dying since our births
What do you want to say to me if "Sorry" isn't what you speak?
You're cold as ice and hard as stone, afraid to feel will make you weak. And meek.
Who needs sleep when I can worry?
Who needs rest when I can hurry?
Who needs to eat when I can fake it?
Children need love, yet I made it.
Someone eats your soul for supper, and you wonder why it hurts
We sacrifice each other. We've been lambs and goats since birth.
Your mother never loved you and I'm not sure you know how...
Maybe the new computer set up will include a mic and I'll see if I can make a simple audio file of that. (And then one of you who is good with guitar or piano can help me make the notes actual music - please, maybe, with cherries?)
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From "Komarr" by Lois McMaster Bujold.
Stupid, irrational weeping. She muffled it in a towel, lest he, or Nikki, or her guests hear and investigate. I hate him. I hate myself. I hate him, for making me hate myself.
Most of all, she despised in herself that crippling desire for physical affection, regenerating like a weed in her heart no matter how many times she tried to root it out. That neediness, that dependence, that love-of-touch must be broken first. It had betrayed her, worse than all the other things. If she could kill her need for love, then all the other coils which bound her, desire for honor, attachment to duty, above all every form of fear, could be brought into line. Austerely mystical, she supposed. If I can kill all these things in me, I can be free of him.
I'll be a walking dead woman, but I will be free.
I only feel like this some days. I think my mom is a walking dead woman every day.
