Day

Today was one of THOSE days. And days like those/this can leave you crying and laughing at the same time. I had one at home. Andy had one at the dojo. And the kids had one too. A bunch of bad things with some good stuff thrown in.

So you say: AaaaAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH followed with hahahahah.

At least we try to. And at least we have each other after all the stuff that causes the AaaaHHH so we can cry and laugh and try to figure where we went wrong so we can make it better.

The AaaAHHHHH reminds me of something I wrote a long while back. I probably wrote it when I was grumpy and it definitely needs lots of revision in both form and content (my thinking on the concept at the time has changed by more than a bit. In fact, I see many, many problems with the poem, but I'll go ahead and post it with all its mistakes):

The lights have all gone out,
No one dares to open their eyes,
Midnight marks the drought,
of a people made of sighs.
Where is your flicker of interest.
How many will it be tonight,
The young town weeps and frets,
but does nothing to stop this fright.
"You foolish hypocrits!!", he cries,
and unabashadly speaks the truth,
For here, in this town no one cares
for anyone,
But for their lives they would
fight blood nail and tooth.

4-11-91

I was irritated when I wrote it. I've since come to understand that people care greatly. But we also throw our deep fears onto others. It's hard to say what you think is right when so many people say with their words and actions and silence that it's not. And sometimes we feel censored. I think this is a human thing.

And maybe we feel this as well:

Stranded creature left begging,
looking out at his limbs disdainfully,
pensive reflections, cant help wondering
why such powerful appendages weren't
made to fly.

Cursing his origin, hands held high,
flailing wildly in the Autumn light,
over and over, mercilessly he tries,
to reach the sky, to better his life.

Many men have gazed upon this outcast mortal,
Chilling shivers when looking through the portal,
For each, though vastly different will identify
with the man alone on a hill struggling to fly.

March 11, '93

When I come back to this poem now, I think about the man on the hill. My memory for the actual event that sparked the poem had to do with the concept of the Struggling Man. I think I may have gone to see one of those panoramic movies that day. Invention and DaVinci stick in my mind in regards to this guy but I don't know why. This man was in a field with wooden wings (I think). Anyway, something about him must have caused enough of an impression for me to write about it. He struggled so much that I thought he should be/could be able to reach the sky.

So, yes, goodnight badish day. You'll probably be a better day tomorrow.