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David and Andy and Grandjo and Joy and Steve were here today and last night. We ate a ridiculous amount of food at East Coast Buffet, and then came home and had cake. Since the boys were here, we were able to put the huge piece of glass on the dining room table. It is so much better.
I don't know what it is about the sight of carved wood through inch-thick glass with the reflections of candles, but it ahs the same effect on me as does a bath in the dark in marble with candles. The shiny, smooth surface, the fire, and the ephemeral images bring my subconscious feline further forward than nearly anything else. They could sit at the table and bash everything I stand for by way of my love (yes, Andrew, it does bring vulnerability), and the mindless defensive instincts boiling in the hippocampus, ready to be articulated in the cerebrum, would disperse or diffuse because the glass was shiny and the light flickered on the elephants and I knew they would hear me if I calmly took a position opposite to theirs, and if they disagreed, they would still respect me. But I didn't, because though it matters to me that they know I differ, I could observe their opinions more thoroughly and in greater detail if I waited, and in the end it would make more of a difference when I spoke.
And this morning before my mother got home, there were no candles. Andy and David and Grandjo explained to me the amount of trouble she's in. I have grown up not knowing how she's supposed to be, because the change was gradual and she's so broken now that she's nearly dead in comparison. I couldn't hold back tears as they listed the ways in which she has decayed, and I could help her; I live here. I can push her to take care of herself. How? I can hardly motivate my own self.
I watched her discreetly at Roger's, and I can see what they were saying. She has no stamina. I will fix her.
David and Andy and Grandjo and Joy and Steve were here today and last night. We ate a ridiculous amount of food at East Coast Buffet, and then came home and had cake. Since the boys were here, we were able to put the huge piece of glass on the dining room table. It is so much better.
I don't know what it is about the sight of carved wood through inch-thick glass with the reflections of candles, but it ahs the same effect on me as does a bath in the dark in marble with candles. The shiny, smooth surface, the fire, and the ephemeral images bring my subconscious feline further forward than nearly anything else. They could sit at the table and bash everything I stand for by way of my love (yes, Andrew, it does bring vulnerability), and the mindless defensive instincts boiling in the hippocampus, ready to be articulated in the cerebrum, would disperse or diffuse because the glass was shiny and the light flickered on the elephants and I knew they would hear me if I calmly took a position opposite to theirs, and if they disagreed, they would still respect me. But I didn't, because though it matters to me that they know I differ, I could observe their opinions more thoroughly and in greater detail if I waited, and in the end it would make more of a difference when I spoke.
And this morning before my mother got home, there were no candles. Andy and David and Grandjo explained to me the amount of trouble she's in. I have grown up not knowing how she's supposed to be, because the change was gradual and she's so broken now that she's nearly dead in comparison. I couldn't hold back tears as they listed the ways in which she has decayed, and I could help her; I live here. I can push her to take care of herself. How? I can hardly motivate my own self.
I watched her discreetly at Roger's, and I can see what they were saying. She has no stamina. I will fix her.
