Roads Passed – Missed Offramps.
Vocabulary for this document;
misplan (mis’ plan) v. see misconfusion
misconfusion (mis con’ fuse on) adj. you done messed up.
The oxygen converting being I often infer to as myself likes to ramble towards what was missed, not seen, on an overgrown dirt trail I move through as I encompass life. Her! That one who got past what I saw as there, the one the common people say ‘slipped away’, and I didn’t actually miss, I just had too much lotion collected between my digits and, what do you know?
She goes way back. Before time changed who I wanted to be and made me what I should be. I was trothed, and not to her. So it wasn’t going to happen. At least not in an acceptable pre use of the word ‘format’. Oh the fret I would conjure in my cranium. But the dent this female version of her left in my Corazon, it pushed the rest of the contents aside so it could make room for itself. And waited.
She’s a brave one, for sure. And I am finding I admire that in all I meet who fit that rare category of courage. They’re out in terra, walking, doing jobs some may not be particularly happy with, maybe struggling to make emotional and physical and financial ends cover the necessities of human participation on the planet and the location they currently take residence within.
They’re doing that pole vaulting thing with poles that are inches too short for their needs, yet they still clear the bar, albeit with often a rather expressive profanity that formative aged listeners should not have reflected off their ear drums.
Admiration totally due!
Hidden in all those stacks of rolled pages of hurt, struggle and turmoil is love. For me, for her, for both of us from both of us, how should I know? At least I don’t really climb into it from her blood pump. But mine? That hidden little part that was stuck in some dusty opening between two bigger pieces, fell out when I saw the real her, the undyed hair that makes her honest and real, and the not even close to crafty, crafty smile that is as real as global warming and as precious as a stream of water from the highest point in the Sierras. And? The courage is, I must admit and in doing so use the not awkward terminology, a ‘turn on’.
So, here is me. That very example of what shy isn’t, peeping from the cramped closet of my ADD, I forget, misplan, move about in harried misconfusion and generally do exactly what web searches tell me not to do.
Damnit, missed again! How many short ops will be doled out to that wayward seagull who has the wrong wind direction but only has to sit on a rolling wave that pushes towards the Coast of the Great Pacific Northwest, and be patient that she will be there when the water wall spews plankton over sandy entries to pathways inland.
Will she be sitting astride the waiting stool, looking, cracking groaner stories and purging from her marvelous lady brain, witty, yet thought of with some aplomb, remarks and critiques?
28 rotations around the giant hydrogen fired light ball and now she shows up, the her I’m talking about?
Yep, while I toyotaed across the land that Vespucci claimed to have mapped, she waited and I missed Exit 2 on the I’ll See You Next Time turnpike. Not that it would have been more than deciding what looked best at the farmer’s market, consuming modified versions of it, then refilling the self propelled auto mobile with the refined remains of life in the Pleistocene era, but how will I ever sleep again without some knowledge of what ifs keeping me awake for at least five sixty second sweeps of the smallest hand on my watch.
So, alas, all I do is ponder my next detour in case there is construction on Exit 3
yobech505 