And there are so many more things I can’t do. If you want a more in-depth description of the “mushy, squishy feeling,” I wrote about it long ago and I’m certain the sentiment still stands. I hope the sentiment stands. You see, I need it to stand. There’s that fine line we skate – between being desensitized enough to live our daily lives (like kid tears and deer roadkill and the absolute atrocities of this world) – and not getting too hardened. How do we find that balance of feeling feelings, palatable and comfortable, little by little? It sits in between feeling nothing at all, or screaming loudly every five minutes.
– Eyeglasses folded neatly on a book on a nightstand. Eyeglasses that fall to the floor or ground.
– Hats and crowns and things getting knocked off of heads, after being placed there so importantly.
– Elderly people fumbling for their wallets. (This one was sent in by my mom)
– People staring vacantly at the vast yogurt selections of a grocery store, late at night. (Oddly specific, no?)
– Kids. Husbands. Parents. Siblings. The people you love the most? Their pain will break your heart.
– Animals in the winter. Do they have enough food and fur? Are they warm enough?
– Fresh roadkill when you can see the still-warm fur blowing in the breeze and they just look like they’re sleeping – peacefully and lovingly. God, I hate that. Scarlet always says, “You can still see that they’re cute. How sad.”
– Des has a bottom lip tremble where he starts wiping his eyes with the back of his wrists when you’ve hurt his feelings. As two formerly sensitive kids turned sensitive adults, that one is really rough for Cassidy and me.
– This scene in Hook. I can’t!
– Books in which animals die. Movies too. And movies like Marvin’s Room and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Life is Beautiful and Coco. I struggle with endings after enormous beginnings and middles.
– They way they both legit won their own giant huskies at the fair yesterday. On the way home, way past nightfall, I turned around in the dark to see them and they were both snuggling their huskies. It looked like four people in the backseat!
– I can’t do broken hearts. Not the way other people can. People talk about their spouses leaving them, or people having been left, and all of the muck and junk and horror of it all – divorce lawyers, the division of things, the kids. I always ask, “What about the broken heart? Isn’t that unbearable?” And they just blink at me, like that’s the afterthought. “Oh, well they already hated each other by then. Oh, it was a relief. Oh, who cares anyway?” It wasn’t fresh love – it wasn’t a new wound – dripping hot red blood. It was dark and scabbed and old and untended. What’s the point of it all then, I wonder?
The things I can’t do – some I can’t do because I actually CAN do, but it’s just so bittersweet and happy and sad and time happening all at once and overwhelming and heart-bursting that I say I can’t do it. Of course, I can do it. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to feel everything all at once all bittersweet and happy and sad and overwhelming and heart-bursting, but I prefer it over leaving. I prefer to stay in the ring and stay in the round and stay in the game and stay on the track. I won’t leave.
I’m no leaver. I’m a slow learner and the long-game-player. And I’m oblivious and buffoon-like. I’m the last one to know, the world’s worst (but best) procrastinator, slow on the uptake, and fast and furious on the downhill. My heart. It’s here.
This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week’s topic is “Leave..” (5 minute stream-of-consciousness) And there’s still time to write yours. Come link up with your spin: HERE.