Waiting for the Day That is Here

The last few years I've felt more awkward talking to people face to face, but I guess that's what sobriety does to you. I'm suddenly that only child that's thrusted into a classroom with PEOPLE. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking down the elderly and stepping on children. You can't see it. I just feel it. That slight suspicion that I'm not like the other children. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way. Far from it. We all have that one thing that makes us different. And I'm not insecure about it. Fuck no! The weird thing is that I am not insecure. Me. Overweight in a bulimic or anorexic town-older than everyone these days, everyone who is chasing the dream that I've encountered, anyway.

My one thing that makes me different is that I can feel what you feel. And I don't play that game where someone tries to make me guess what they're feeling. This isn't a carnival, and I'm not the tweeked out carny who is going to try to guess your weight, fuck you for even entertaining the thought. I pick up on emotions. It gives me the gift and curse of empathy. It strikes me to the core. I used to block it with my party habits, but now I have to face the feeling.

As of the past year and a half I've become a bone yard skulker. It started out as a hunt to find celebrity grave sites, but now I go there to be in peace. Though, I don't think it'll be where I end up when I pass. I have different spots that I like to go to. I respect the body that's there. As any occupant of space, they may come and check things out from time to time, so I am sure to thank them for letting me hang out there. My hobby may sound eccentric, but it's nothing more than me being able to be outside without dealing with frenetic people in make believe situations, trying to pin time under their thumbs in their best clothes and cleanest, sleekest cars. The truth is, I don't want to compete. None of that stuff has ever felt important to me. I'm no fool, I would love a fine income and the choice to choose between this showroom car or that one, but I want to do it in a t-shirt and jeans. I want to pay for things quietly. If my face is recognized because of my endeavors, then I'll deal with that, but my times of wicked debauchery are behind me, and my day to day is benign, so I doubt if any voyeurs will take any interest in me outside of my work.

I wait for the day when this sensitive, maybe old soul, but new at life human, will achieve the things I set out to do in spite of the crooked roads and temptation, the hucksters and misers. Then I can make my backyard into that peaceful place sans bones and tombstones. I'll have hallways and rooms-a lush den-that is free of the poor cats that I find myself allergic, too.

My oddities, that which sets me apart will finally blossom. I've waited long enough. Patience is virtuous, but for a long time, she's been a whore in my house. I want to see the other side of her, the virtue. The side where we embrace and I softly tell her, "thank you". I want to be the woman to tell people to be patient and mean it. To open my arms and say, "I'm proof that things will prevail. You can, too!"

I'm ready to receive my fortunes. I can handle it now. I have love, now I need the house to place it in, keep it warm, fed and creative. Now.