Words which have been thrown away, recently:
"the ties that bind"
I dislike intensely being bound to anything. The word bind, or being bound, implies a lack of choice, enforced incapacity. I'm not good at that. I fight back. I kick back. I automatically want to cut the ties, tear them to shreds, break them apart, burn them, destroy them. I want to be somewhere because I choose to be there, like to be there, because being there fires sparks in my mind and hope and joy in my heart. I've endured enough darkness and restrction. You can't put a butterfly back into a bottle. Or maybe you can? But binding me to somewhere, will automatically ensure that I do not wish to be there any longer. Where I stay is where I choose to be, whether it might appear that there are bindings, or no. My ties might not look the same as yours, different knots, invisible restrictions.
"get over yourself Lou. No seriously, get over yourself"
I never realised it came across that way. Had never considered it for a second. Explains so much, the slight hesitancy and confusion, the impatience and frustration. People don't think it's real, that I am, somehow, not telling the truth about the way things were and the way things are, because my friends who know me well, or rather who knew me well, no longer seem to want to have a place in the world where I am now what and who I am. So, to have someone who's earned respect for a beautiful mind and a massive intelligence to tell me, and tell me straight? Needed. Appreciated. Okay. Perhaps this post is part of the process. There's a choice at the end of it, I know there is. In the absence of anyone with the time nor inclination to listen, instead I try and organise the chaos here. There is nowhere else. The conversations which have come after with the idiocy out of the way, with the assuredness of straight talking and none of this complicated dancing around each other trying to play power games, but instead a completely straight clear open exchange of thoughts and concepts have been liberating. Reignited a spark.
"what are you waiting for? permission?"
Back and back and back again. I don't know. A chat in a pub with someone where egos, job titles, money earnt, status, position, gender were checked at the door? Help. I'm waiting for help. Honesty. It's there, I know it is, but I'm 300 miles away and the frustration is in danger of destroying any hope or chance.
I want to. More than anything. There are no buts. There are no ifs. There is just the crossroads.
Users at the crossroads of life: One
Anyone got time for a pint?