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Working so hard to get it right

I mostly feel terrified about my life. I'm probably a normal neighbor. I'm your average monday morning commuter. I'm a friendly coworker. I own a dog. I shop at farmers markets. I have an iphone 4 because I don't think I'd use Siri that much. And I think that's it always the humity that gets you. 

But sometimes I just feel like screaming. Like throwing an hysterial fit while blinking away tears and storming around with my hands flying in all directions trying to understand why we are acting so damn normal. 

Sometimes I feel an impossible urge to walk up to this guy on the corner waiting for the bus--like he always does with his hair tossled just so and that umbrella poking out both ends of his silly little suitcase--and ask "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? HERE?! AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" That wouldn't really be a fair question, I guess. Because "a time like this" is really all the time. And he doesn't know me. He doesn't know why I'm upset. And how long I've been thinking about this. 

I just get so irritated sometimes. 

Most of the time I think we're all brilliant, exquisite creatures in a poignantly tragic show. I have such love for people. Generic love, but love nonetheless. And then other times I feel like I'm living with incredibly dull zombies. Which is it?

That's the big picture.

The picture within the picture--my life within this bigger, tragic, stupid show--is that my life feels incredibly wobbly. And while I decide whether to stay quiet or to shout, I'm also wondering if and how I will continue to make the right decisions that will allow me to keep walking this tight rope. Things are true, until they are not. They are wonderful, until they are not. Right and good, until they are not. And I've found that I can count on the "not" part far more than the "true, wonderful, right and good" part.

I don't know why this is. This is what I'm trying to figure out. This is why I am terrified.

Is this because disappointment is truer (bear with me) than good things? Or because it's easier? I whisper that last question to myself. 

I think so many people want to paint a picture of a straight, linear path when the truth is, once you start walking it's more meandering than I'd ever previously thought. And it getting me frusterated. And making me terrified that I'm doing it wrong somehow. And I look at other people's lives and it actually looks like it really straight. So damn straight they could pick it up and spear a a sprinting deer through the heart. No problem. And other people's lines are so dark and squiggly that it makes me gasp. My hand slaps over my mouth to keep from shrieking. And my heart hollows out.

And I wonder why I'm trying to hard to get my line straight when it doesn't really matter at all. But then I have the eerie feeling that everything does matter. It all matters quite a bit. 

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