Two-Bit Musings.

Wait Awhile.

A Weirdo, Cerebral Reflection from Yours Truly.

. . .

Wouldn’t it be something if our every thought could be documented? Like, our dreams could be stored away in The Vault of Complete Memories, which I visualize as a rather Soviet-looking building, filled with hundreds of books and videotapes. Every dream, pondering, or musing filed away, awaiting reflection.

Or you know. . . maybe not, because even entertaining that idea gives me significant heart palpitations.

What I’m getting at is that the mind is a funny thing; there are so many fleeting thoughts, many of which stay for just a blip on the screen, and are never heard from again.

And you know? I think that’s a real shame. How much have we lost? How many valuable seedlings never make it to the light of day?

. . .

I woke up this morning feeling like The Tin Man. My hands were a frustrating mix of fiery frozen fingers.

I’ve yet to see a doctor, but I’m confident I have carpal tunnel syndrome. It seems that even a few years of scooping ice cream and meticulously decorating cakes wreaks havoc on the wrists. (That, and my crazy handwriting practices also probably contributed.)

I felt so much older than my [almost] 35 years. The only cure was several small, steamy mugs of coffee, followed by a piping hot shower. I wet-brushed my hair. I cocoa-buttered my body. I put on my new polka dot house dress, and felt reborn.

. . .

Nothing is ever Most things are never really done. Never really over, never really. . . accomplished.

Our days are spent simply trying to keep up.

Again and again and again.

For these are the moments wrinkles are made of.

. . .

I don’t have many friends.

17 years ago I saw myself as The Girl Who Got Along With Everyone. And while I like to think I still have that mindset–I really do try to see the best in people–I find myself on the periphery of true friendship. Maybe it’s my simple lifestyle: maybe I seem boring to most people. Maybe my artistic nature is difficult for others to relate to.

Or maybe we’ve forgotten that friendship is a living, breathing thing. Starve it, and see what happens.

Meanwhile, I’ll prune the brilliant blossoms in the morning sun.

I love you.

. . .

It literally took the act of childbirth for me to learn the art of asking for what I need.

. . . I am worthy of help. I am worthy of comfort in this life.

And so, my friend, are you.

. . .

SnapDragon is a writer who just loves using mixed metaphors.

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2 thoughts on “Wait Awhile.

  1. I struggle with the definition of friendship and it is an ever present thought in my brain. Is it true you get what you give?

    Not in my experience.

    Should I still continue to give what I want to give?

    Yes.

    Because… If you give for the purpose of receiving something, and you don’t receive it, that says more about them than about you.

    Solo life is good (enough) for me, I’ve discovered.

    And I’m not completely solo – kids and family are ever present in all realms, not just the physical 3D. 😉

    Liked by 2 people

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