anudda day like no udda

here i sit, a familiar stance
every day another chance

today is the day for thanks and giving
no walking emotional planks
just glad to be living

rescinderella

she had reached that stage in life where what was written was writ, and what loomed ahead, ditto.

her life had been a combination of adult comfort and luxury, coupled with unresolved angst over childhood misery and pain. this duo ran her life, and those around her, at times, into the ground.

the uncertainty that coursed through her young years resulted in an inordinate need for control in the years that followed. she never really felt good, as herself, unaware that this unhappiness was heightened by the control issue.

she had children, stunted adults trapped in self loathing and fear.

one of her children became ill, stirring up a maelstrom within her. never able to identify, sort out, or admit culpability, this translated into extreme anxiety. it was the child she felt the most ambivalence towards, and treated the most harshly, at times like a servant; to carry her shopping bags or serve at her dinner parties. the one who watched her high end self expenditure, with the occasional bargain bone hurled in her direction.

lost in this swirl of feeling, the woman reached her hand up, to that child, to save her.

she said, she said

she sat looking out the window as the train jostled her along. trees, houses, people zipped past her view, as they had long before she rode this rail, and would long after she disembarked.

in her mind, she watched the world run by her, carrying designer bags, wearing impossibly high designer shoes, as she plodded along in her sensible sneakers, though, of late, these aforementioned had taken on a much more upscale quality.

she had spent her entire adult life getting by. paying bills, choosing between food and make up...skipping a trip to the supermarket so she could afford an afternoon of movie and lunch with some female acquaintances. she noted quite clearly to herself that the friend concept was not embedded in this equation.

as she shook along with the train, she felt the old simmering resentment...how her struggling and sacrifices should not have been necessary, as she was a member of a relatively affluent family. however, they gave what they gave, which helped keep her afloat, but without a martini.

she again tamped down this entitlement, turning her head toward the window. it was growing dark. soon, that which she passed would no longer be visible

they slept together so tightly knit
there could not be a better fit

she dreamed, she looked

she looked around at the space which had been her home for almost two years. she familiarized herself with every corner, every nuance of her husband's apartment.

it still did not seem real to her, the sort of pinchmyselfimdreaming reverie she had her entire life. although some of her furnishings were interspersed among his, this domicile still felt "not her own", but in a warm and comforting, i cant believe this happened to me, too good to be true way.

their whole courtship seemed like a dream. his goodness, kindness, acceptance of her as she was. hers of him... . their personalities flowed together softly, almost always parallel, on the same course, their hearts joined. hands held.

marriage only increased the joy they found in each other.

she did not want to lose this...this was a recurring theme for her innerdaylife. this time a reality nudged itself in the mix.

health, surgery. she had not yet left for the hospital but she focused intensely on coming home.

the only thing i know that is around the block
is the constant ticking of the clock