The weather in California today is not worthy of a tv "come visit us!" spot. All my blinds are shut, my pandora station is playing in the living room, and I'm indian-styled on my bed with wet hair next to my sleeping dog. Today is a day to feel at ease, to feel the cycle of twenty-four hours and do whatever the hell I want with it. It's nice to not be on someone else's watch for once AND for my mind to let me take a break. I always say this or at least feel like I do, but I'm a little scared of this empty white space. I have so much stored in the barricades of my chest and still feel that I can't make a dent in this vast white canvas. So I'm going to make an effort to shut my mind off and just be a vessel for the literary jargon.Here we go....
I fell asleep last night feeling like emotion was pounding against my skin. Like a cooking child's foot against his mother's womb. Like I've done since I was little I sat in front of my mirror and just gazed. There is a lot of clarity to be found gazing at your face finding your emotion. Last time I did this, I ended up crying. Sometimes emotions come like waves and within five minutes they are calm again. I feel so much in my heart, incredibly SO much that not many of the people who are acquainted with me know about it. People are still amazed to find that I write and that in their minds, I can do it well. This incredibly emotional creature finds refuge in the placement of letters and endings of sentences. Yet, while sometimes people are often confused by me, I am still so confused by them.
Yes, I have a phobia of balloons or sometimes called globophobia.
It's a strange fear and one I often feel quite stupid about. However, it never fails. Place one in front of me and I'll start shaking, hyperventilating, and in some instances have even cried. While researching my phobia, I found many other victims and some of the things they do to cope. Some stick their fingers in their ears, while others simply get light-headed. Me? I tug on my earlobes. In the workings of my mind, I feel that it's protecting me from whatever that balloon is capable of. So when children walk by with balloons, I tug. When people walk into my store with them? I tug and hide in the back.
It's such a foolish response to an innocent joy in the life of a child, but I can't help it. So the times I find where people laugh in my face about it, my sensitive heart feels the sting. On Valentine's Day an older night customer that I'm quite fond of pretended to give me a Mylar balloon that my manager left in the corner of the store. I had told her it was okay as long as nobody touched them. The minute his fingers graced the strings I started freaking out. I later had to admit to him about my fear to which, yes, he laughed in my face. My feelings were instantly hurt and I told him it wasn't that funny. "You have to admit, you are kind of strange." Then like a true seed of the coast of the east, my hurt turned into anger. Why is it so hard for some people to admit fault? Even more harder when they don't particularly agree with why your feelings ended up hurt. I have been nothing but kind to this creature and even sat with him a couple of times when I stumbled to my job on my day off. So why openly hurt my feelings and then continue to do it? Why come in the next night ask me if I'm done being pissy and continue to laugh at me about it?
Is it that hard for not just man, but people to admit their own fault? If hell ever freezes over and the day comes where I get an apology, I'll gladly accept it with a smile. But, the seams in my heart are jaded and I feel that beyond being professional at my job, I'll never make an extra effort to know this person. Which I'm okay with, it's not expected of me and I know that I'm not losing anything. It's just a sad occurrence that didn't need to happen. It saddens me even more that I see how my heart withers and is cast with the petrificus totalus spell.
I'm often astounded by the coldness of people and the coldness of myself on occasion.
I'm also OFTEN warm-hearted when greeted with kindness by another being.
A warm smile, a good morning, even the holding open of a door.
It's the little things that keep things warm and fresh in my skin.
Things like this:
I want to do MORE than exist.
There is nothing more artistic than loving people.
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