Dark Lights

A large truck with double headlights followed me home tonight.

Two or three years ago my Ex, replaced my headlights with brighter ones. No complaint on my part as I could see more road and appreciated the gesture. However, driving after sundown is a hit or miss situation of which drivers my bright lights will offend. The flickering of their headlights as they approach and pass me is a clear indication.

"There is nothing I can do," I say to them with my mind. I'm sure all consider me a rude driver, and this embarrasses me. Tonight is the first time a driver turned around and followed me with high beams deliberately. For several residential blocks along Broadway, we traveled the same direction. At last the driver turned off the road just before the capital building. But, I saw the hesitation at the stop sign.

Headlights in the Dark

Thinking to myself, "Well, I guess they finally decided I've learned my lesson, they've gone their merry way." I did look back to get a better look - it appeared white or gray in color. This was when I began thinking of all the ways human interactions go wrong. Of all the encounters I've had with strangers that could have ended badly.  Typical fears crossed my mind: rape, murder, injury... I was reminded of the dangers of the world. I'm a woman, and all sorts of things go along with that. I shrug it off and continue towards my neighborhood. 

Turning on the main road towards home, guess who is driving up the way. *sigh* At the sight of my beautiful bright lights, the large truck with double headlights slows down and almost comes to a complete stop. Then hastily makes a turn - onto my street. Great.

I suppose I could have (should have) driven to the gas station and create distance, but instead turned and was now following it. The truck slowed down, then picked up speed, and slowed down again and quickly parked in an open space along my block just a few houses away from mine.

Safety protocols indicate NOT to drive home. Safety protocols also suggest making eye contact with your potential threat. So I did. I drove past and parked at home (I have a healing kitten to look after). I got out of my truck and made sure the large truck with the double high beam headlights saw me seeing it.

It's not the first time I've had to do that. Strangely the first time it happened, while walking Mick, on a snowy night - it too, was a white or gray truck. I'll admit to hiding behind a tree until I gathered my courage to cross the street, make eye contact and quickly walk back to my apartment.  

Not everything is dangerous to all. 

Yet, some dangers are unique to some.

Stay safe my friends. 

What if, I know

I no longer think, “What if?”

- I am not good enough

- I fail

- I can’t

- ______

I think, “I know.”

- I am good enough

- I won’t fail

- I can

- ______

Significant, this shift is.

Imagine, if you will. The window shades are open, and the light flows in. Early morning rain freshens the air. Hair untied. Relaxed. Full breaths. These are my days now. Don’t be jealous. It’s a little eerie. 

"A Little Brain Twist" via Imgur

Growth presented unexpectedly.

Streaming Water

This year, like this time last, words were not typed on the daily, as the participating group expects. I’ve learned a few things about my writing habits. Typically, I produce work when it is unexpected - my best work. The excitement around NaNoWriMo in November is infectious, and I’m happy to join others around the world. But, I wonder why I just don’t write to write it down.

Perhaps I write because I forget memories. Maybe, this is not meant to be read by others. When I think of writers, the classical ones, their lives are rich with thought and expression. They experience turmoil and deep connection (or, disconnect) with life and living. They draw from it and keep on until all sides of their stories burning within are exposed.

I’ve done the thing. Thought upon thoughts emersed by scattered ideas. Only to make known a small percentage of what burns within. It’s water through my fingers. I see water, I feel the water, but I cannot hold the water. I cannot reshape it. I lose sight and am confused by the rapid, fragmented string of words.

         

I regret all that I did for love. Things never done before and likely will never do again. He hindered, caused me to doubt my uniqueness and power, needed me small at his side. He is a tornado. Exciting and destructive. In the middle of his roar and thunder, there is a single pocket of bright, beautiful calm. He’s the loneliest person I’ve ever known. He’ll break you so that he isn’t alone.

I’m torn between him leaving and disappearing across state lines, deep into international waters never to be heard or seen from again, or seek justice and impose the punishment he’s earned. I don’t know which is better or worse to know or not know where he is all of the time. I’m in danger of his explosive and quiet violence, either way.

A lesson I learned long before he crossed my path is that love, pain, anger, and everything else is felt until it is not. No timetable exists. No end in sight until you reach it. And, there is no escaping. There is only living through it. Embracing the scars as evidence of life.

**

A performance against domestic violence. 

        

Patience, Just a Little

Of all the virtues patience is the bee's knees. Stitch after stitch I pull the yarn through. Sometimes I even undo. Row after row the crocheted yarn grows. Crochet is like riding a bike, in that you don't entirely forget what you learned. When I started up again, about a month or so ago, I had difficulty holding the needle. My fingers were clumsy and yard easily tangled. I bought two small rolls of yarn. One pink and one grey. Those mini projects turned into a square, a rectangle, and a wheel.

Patience is the only word on my mind while I crochet. Calmly. During my pre-teen years and early 20's, I had little patience to finish a project. I felt that if I couldn't get it right the first time it meant I wasn't good at it. So...why bother doing it. I wore a self-defeating mindset back then. Well, most of my life. Up until a few years ago, patience wasn't a virtue I spent time on.

I learned the value of patience during my work with Mick. A shelter dog assigned to me to foster, train, and learn from. Everyone that knows me here knows about Mick. I really cannot stop talking about him. I try to hold back (I really do). But, ... I'm proud of him. I'm proud of me. 

"Patience" performed by Guns N' Roses

My Maddness

Image Source

Most appropriate, this image, for this moment that I'm suddenly unable to write all that is in my head. Every November, it's the same.

I'm at the starting line with all the other participants around the world. The starter gun is in the air.

I'm excited. Then, after the shot - the ringing bell, the air horns... silence. Silence in my head. The space filled with lines, phrases, gets all choked up. They won't come out. They won't be seen. They just refuse to participate. It's an anxious-ridden time for me and so many others.

This time of the year, we're all working on something at the same time, together but apart. Apart but together. Our daily goals met or not met, our motivation keeps going or gives out. 

This is NaNoWriMo, people.