A friend, a good friend and now, possibly, a former friend, wrote to me that she is just tired, to paraphrase, of all the drama that surrounds her life, that makes some relationships impossible to tender, that simply drains that which is the life-force out of her soul.
Yesterday, while on the Tragic Journey, that is, the nightly commute home, I felt myself getting overwhelmed, not by the traffic, but by the scenarios that were building in my head. I went deeper into the wilds of the industrial parks in Parsippany, by then, void of workers and their cars and found myself stopping in the parking lot of some office suites near a railroad track. It was quiet except for an occasional train horn and the songs of birds. Across from the office parks is an expanse of what I can only describe as wilderness. Copses of trees, meadows and now other buildings in sight. I got out of the car, turned off the engine and closed the door to silence the key reminder's ting ting ting. Around me, evidenced only by chirps, hoots and other wild sounds, were birds in full revolt. Doves sat upon a high wire. Woodchucks tentatively investigated the interloper and then scurried off to a safe distance. Doesn't he know the pink monkeys have gone away and taken their noisy rolling trees with them? I turned to marble and let the wild things into my head. A rabbit, small, brown, with upright ears and big, black eyes, carefully took turns munching manicured, chemically treated grass at the edge of the lot and keeping an eye on me, turning its head left, right and center to gauge my scant motion with its auditory ranging apparatus. Munch, munch. It was beautiful and I thought only of what I was hearing and nothing else. Well, except for Walt Disney. I said aloud goodbye to my temporary animal friends, got back into my car and left.
In the best case, the bemoaning of my "situation" is just so much griping. In the worst case, it's a relationship killer. There isn't enough time to do what has to be done and have human relationships. I find myself hitting the ground running at six am and not stopping until midnight, every single day of every single week. So, I'm inept? Must be. Once upon a time, I had friends who would come over and spend time. Now, they're too busy to travel to the mountains to visit. The locals are rednecks that are marginally friendly at best - neighbor-friendly they call it in Western Canada. The guy across the road from my property is nice enough, but he's dumber than a bag of hammers. I could fake it - no, forget it. The guy that owns the property that Hammer Boy rents is in the Militia, I'm sure of it and not in the least bit friendly. That I'm not Aryan is certainly an issue. Next to him is the brother and sister, now I could never get that quite right, but anyway, relatives of the people that adjoin my property to the south. They're constantly working on their landscaping or scrapbooking or something along those lines and have little time to chat except when we happen to edging our lawns at the same moment. In short, Wisteria Lane this ain't.
Okay - even my blog is getting interrupted at this moment. I guess I'll have to get back to it - or not.
