Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The single life, and then some.

The hubby is out working late again.  Like, late late.  I tend to do odd, unnatural things when Jon's not home.
Like clean the grout with a toothbrush.
Or eat an entire pineapple for dinner.  Canker sores for days.

Tonight I made some bangin' salsa.  You'll taste it and swear we're hanging out on the Gulf.  It's that good.
It only needs to be accompanied by copious amounts of beer and hard alcohol.  Tequila, preferably   My drug of choice.
Maybe, someday, I'll share the most authentic secret salsa recipe this side of the International Date Line.

It's Mexican food that sings its siren song to me.

Being honest.
Expression is hard sometimes.
In those sometimes it feels like my heart is muffled, like the private thoughts and feelings and instincts inspired by my deeply buried soul are caught in the wash.  They're tossed and thrashed around, unable to figure out which way is up, or down, or why they're stuck there in the first place.

For a long time I've been trying to get them out.  I'm not sure how to do that.
Before my deep truths are able to escape, propriety and timidity shove them back in for another spin cycle.
Where is the boundary?  The meeting place of rudeness and honesty, it’s lost.

You meet me.  I’m nice.  I smile a lot and I listen well.  Sometimes I make inappropriate jokes and insult the close-minded.  But you know nothing else of me.  I’m that show that used to play late at night on Nickelodeon, the one where pretty, peppy Christian folks begin talking so boringly that you finally turn off the tv, knowing you’re about to be guilt-tripped to read your Bible and donate a goat to starving kids in the Congo, and so you force yourself to go to bed.  Maybe something more interesting will be on tomorrow night.  But it’s not.

I think the weather knows I’ve been feeling alone, and confused, and a little empty.  It’s been raining for the past three days.  Today, on the drive home from post, the windshield wipers weren’t strong enough for the overwhelmingly large drops of water smacking in to the windshield and road and every newly sprouted weed in this Bavarian countryside.  Feeling the wind beat the car, the thunder echo through the valley and the splash of flooded walkways was fantastic, exhilarating.  It’s the ever changing mood of the clouds that’s so exciting; they’re dark and they don’t explain their secrets, they just express themselves through rain, drenching everything they can reach.  Rain is their truth.

Rain knows which way is up and down and why it’s here.  It never misses its purposeful destination.  It invites you to hibernate in coats and boots, to become another anonymous person hiding in wet clothes and hurrying to the nearest coffee shop.

I hope it rains tomorrow too.

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