camellia

[for those of you not versed in the flora of my southern homeland, this is a camellia, and this is a camellia bud. that'll help with the metaphor.]

i tend to be a little circumspect in my real life. that may be surprising to my loyal readers, given how i spill my guts all the hell over the internet, but it's true. anonymity is a really empowering thing, and without it, i just don't feel right being as open, as honest, as i am here. that's been the cause of a lot of problems for me - i hate conflict, i just don't want to go there, so i let things fester until it all comes shooting out in some kind of terror-inducing fit (aimed internally or externally, depending on how i feel).

when we were little hellspawn children running around the gulf south, we wreaked havoc on so many poor, unsuspecting camellia bushes. we'd use the pods as ammunition. they're pretty dense, so they made excellent projectiles to wing at one another at top speed. they left little round bruises that took forever to fade. but my favorite thing to do, sitting on my back stoop, was to peel off those green guarding leaves (which would inevitably slice my hands) and sprinkle the pink and white petals-to-be all over the yard. camellias fascinated me.

but the best part about a camellia is what happens when they bloom. from that tiny little bud, all tightly packed together and wrapped in those tough little green leaves, comes this gorgeous, splashy flower. it unfurls itself like a flag, a grand, bossy banner that seems to say, "you've been missing beauty like this in your life; good thing i came along." it's a bold flower, not for the faint of heart.

a lot of times, i hide myself in a pretty thick barrier. i wrap myself in the protection of shyness, manifesting itself in quiet complacency, a go-along-to-get-along sort of carapace to minimize hassle and make sure i'm surrounded with happy people. but when i bust out of that shell, with a lot of careful tending and loving care, i shine, i flourish, i strut my stuff in every color of the rainbow. it takes work to get me there, but i make it 100% worth your while. take it in; it's beautiful to see.

talk to me

your humble author, as you have clearly seen, can be a giant ball of anxiety at times. i am given to worry on a fairly regular basis. sometimes, most times even, i am able to seek solace with the fond embrace of my love. but what to do when the source of the anxiety is something that involves him?

i tried to have a conversation with him tonight, wishing to clear up something that had been weighing on my mind of late. but his style is... to call him stoic insults stoics. taciturn. the strong, SILENT type. so my worries and queries were met with crickets. now, don't get me wrong; he wasn't unresponsive. but a simple soothing just was - and is - not gonna get it done tonight. i wanted answers, discourse. his opinion mattered, and he would. not. give. it. just frustrating as hell.

so that's why i'm writing this instead of lying in his arms right now. i love him dearly. but right now, a pat on the head just ain't gonna get it done. someday, that might make sense to him. but until it does, he's going to have to see that silence is not always golden in my world.

in the car

you can't go on thinking nothing's wrong
who's gonna drive you home tonight?
 - "drive," the cars

some days, the weight of the world gets to be too much. lord knows there was a ton of that this weekend. my beloved saints? yeah, we're not going to talk about that. it's cold. i think my body hates me, based on how many varied aches, pains and ailments it's throwing at me. and that's not even getting into the unimaginable sorrow and rage of the attempted assassination of a congresswoman.

so what did i do? i got in the car and went for a drive. ostensibly, it was to run errands; the man needed a key made, but had a call today, so i volunteered to do it. (i am not doing ANYTHING until a week for tomorrow. i. am. BORED.) but once that was done, i wasn't ready to go back and sit in a chair while everyone else lived their lives. so i wound my way around the metro DC area, fighting traffic, blasting music and getting my thoughts in order. it was so restorative that even the light swearing i had to do while negotiating probably my least favorite intersection in the area didn't stress me out.

maybe other people aren't like this, but i am. there is nothing that settles my soul more than being alone in the car with my thoughts for a little while. it may not cure my ills, but controlling a slick rolling ton of american-made steel sure does salve me for awhile. it's the little things, eh?