yobech505

Page 44.  Differences

            Okay.  Acceptable.  Being all right with.  More ways to say we are different.  And I don’t have a problem with it.  Nor will I.  Just not like me to find a reason not to be with someone because we are different.  Age, skin color, likes and dislikes and even long distances do not preclude or defer or unmake a ‘getting together’.  I will make a decision on acceptance, agreeability and the right to allow another to say what they want, do as they chose and be who they are.

            But if they happen to like George Strait, that’s a plus.

            Boring is a week, to day, to hour, to minute, same same.  It hides in always being the same person, thing or happenstance, begging the world around it not to vary from a center line that is pretty much straight, with maybe a few petite bends.  Not much for a life, not too eccentric a variation of something that is really not much more than ennui, going on a track, following a trail, that just meanders until it is absorbed by the loose sand, a life that doesn’t look for more than what it feels sane with doesn’t appeal to me.  Neither do the people who claim to be in a reality form of it. 

            I’m going fishing for salmon but really looking for an elusive but rare albino eel in a river where only one of them exists.  And I want to get there by going the long way because I will be the only one making that trail, and, more than likely I will be forging that path on my own, with whoever wants to be different along with me in tow.  I’ll own the making of it, but, perhaps, will never take it again, and instead look for a new one to make myself.

            The critiques will be elephantine, as numerous as flies on a horse carcass in the tropics.  Just like I have always done, be it told, I will ignore them, much to their uncomfortableness, which will give them cause to expand their critiques to the highest levels they can drag them, as they strive to reach the top of the “how could you” mountain.

             I will just listen to George Strait.  I like George Strait.    And, just maybe, I won’t do it alone.  I’ll do it with someone different.  We’ll continue to do it until the differences we both believe in will be so different that the only option is to go do something different, which just might mean it will be a good idea to stick around with whoever I want to hang out with, understanding that the cool part is the fact that neither one of us is anything like the other.   You know.  Different.

            So what do you think of it?  Don’t really know.  Don’t even want to comprehend that part of it.  Not my place, not my platform and not the spot I will stay long enough to talk to you about it anyway. 

            I will always procure from my observers the perils of the uncertainty that makes me the person that I think they think I am.  Their interpretation, of course, will be different from mine.  Using their background, they will profess to expertise in an exclamation of dismay and distress that tells me my differences will be my demise.  I, of course, will merely ask, ‘Is the opposite of my demise my ‘mise’?”  What is that, anyway?  I may go look it up, hoping it isn’t there so I can make it my own word.

            Time to try something new, different.  Listening to George Strait may not be that different, so what I may have to do is listen to him with someone different.  After all, who actually listens to George Strait if they don’t fit a category the general population crams them into. She must be out there somewhere.  I feel like I know her already.