lindsay (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} palindromic) wrote,@ 2008-12-31 10:48:00 |
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only clarity
Eventually, the choices smolder away, like so much superfluous fat from a luau pig, leaving the only path, the obvious path - the one you should have been walking for all these miserable weeks. Choices are both blessings and burdens, so for example I am happy that I only really want to go to one graduate school, but I needed to winnow out the other possibilities before settling on my decision.
The converse situation to this involves romance, of course. These days, I wake up earlier, go to bed earlier, stay away from home longer - a million little signs that I want to get away from the man in my house. I skip certain songs on my playlists that are for me, and never for him. It's easy enough to pretend that there is only this choice, that we get along well enough and we should be happy to have even that. It is easy to pretend, but it is hard to pretend we are not pretending. He works extra late, takes the bus instead of driving - he is making choices as well.
In the end, the facades can't disguise that this is a bare bones operation. I look at him and fail to see what love should be lighting my eyes with. Treasuring every second alone, my heart sinks when he opens the door. The sight of him on the sofa, drinking beer and watching television, and I think really? really? at this age, is this my life?
The pretend choices were never really options. To endure this unhappiness stoically to do what? Protect his feeling? Keep this shambles afloat? I do not like the idea of being the ender of things, but it's better than the alternative, decay decay decay until collapse.
Listening to this song over and over again, it plays in my head when I sleep, it follows above me as I walk to work. It's a lesson.
And here is the parable:
A carpenter is given a fine car, a Lamborghini, let's say, from his brother. He loves his car tremendously, knowing it is the finest car he has ever had or likely will ever have. He proudly shows his car off to any onlookers. He lovingly describes its wonderful qualities, its speed, its smoothness, its supple all-leather interior, and so on. He simply cannot imagine how he thought he was happy prior to getting this car, and cannot bear the thought of life without it.
Of course, the carpenter still must work for a living. He tries to fit lumber and tools into his fine car, but they will not fit or they damage its beauty. Yet he knows that this is surely the finest of the cars, and proceeds to jam in his supplies and drive it to jobs. His clients all admire his fine automobile, and marvel at how it also serves him in his work. The carpenter is very happy indeed.
He finishes his job, and soon after winter sets in. He looks at his fine car, now dented, scratched, torn inside. Because of all the excess weight of his supplies, many of the delicate parts that let it operate so finely are now coarsened or broken. The carpenter can no longer remember what was so fine about the car in the first place, and was even a little angry with his brother for not getting him a sensible truck or van. After all, he is a carpenter, what can he do with a Lamborghini?
Eventually, the choices smolder away, like so much superfluous fat from a luau pig, leaving the only path, the obvious path - the one you should have been walking for all these miserable weeks. Choices are both blessings and burdens, so for example I am happy that I only really want to go to one graduate school, but I needed to winnow out the other possibilities before settling on my decision.
The converse situation to this involves romance, of course. These days, I wake up earlier, go to bed earlier, stay away from home longer - a million little signs that I want to get away from the man in my house. I skip certain songs on my playlists that are for me, and never for him. It's easy enough to pretend that there is only this choice, that we get along well enough and we should be happy to have even that. It is easy to pretend, but it is hard to pretend we are not pretending. He works extra late, takes the bus instead of driving - he is making choices as well.
In the end, the facades can't disguise that this is a bare bones operation. I look at him and fail to see what love should be lighting my eyes with. Treasuring every second alone, my heart sinks when he opens the door. The sight of him on the sofa, drinking beer and watching television, and I think really? really? at this age, is this my life?
The pretend choices were never really options. To endure this unhappiness stoically to do what? Protect his feeling? Keep this shambles afloat? I do not like the idea of being the ender of things, but it's better than the alternative, decay decay decay until collapse.
Listening to this song over and over again, it plays in my head when I sleep, it follows above me as I walk to work. It's a lesson.
And here is the parable:
A carpenter is given a fine car, a Lamborghini, let's say, from his brother. He loves his car tremendously, knowing it is the finest car he has ever had or likely will ever have. He proudly shows his car off to any onlookers. He lovingly describes its wonderful qualities, its speed, its smoothness, its supple all-leather interior, and so on. He simply cannot imagine how he thought he was happy prior to getting this car, and cannot bear the thought of life without it.
Of course, the carpenter still must work for a living. He tries to fit lumber and tools into his fine car, but they will not fit or they damage its beauty. Yet he knows that this is surely the finest of the cars, and proceeds to jam in his supplies and drive it to jobs. His clients all admire his fine automobile, and marvel at how it also serves him in his work. The carpenter is very happy indeed.
He finishes his job, and soon after winter sets in. He looks at his fine car, now dented, scratched, torn inside. Because of all the excess weight of his supplies, many of the delicate parts that let it operate so finely are now coarsened or broken. The carpenter can no longer remember what was so fine about the car in the first place, and was even a little angry with his brother for not getting him a sensible truck or van. After all, he is a carpenter, what can he do with a Lamborghini?
