xeryfyn's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On Becoming a Woman "I am too old and too bitchy to put up with people I don't like." I was thinking about the cycle of things, how things change, how they stay the same. How much I miss having a real honest-to-god *best* friend whom I can't imagine not confiding in every night, who never hesitates to invite me out (WITH *or* WITHOUT my attention-grabbing monkey), who kicks my ass to do the things I procrastinate over, who knows before I say so that I am feeling a bit blue. I miss having a friend who makes time for me. And, dont get me wrong, I have some really great friends. One that I can sit for hours up on hours with giggling over inane gossip, buckle down to some serious writing or a good novel. One I feel really sure is looking out for me, not because she has to or feels like it would be the right thing to do, but because she genuinely cares about me. The fact that she is also crazy about my child only adds to her piquancy. (She is also one of the few people who might also use the word "piquancy" in a sentence:P) Yes, I have some golden friends and Lord help me keep them. But as I get closer to some people, other people edge away, like the slow recess of tides, drawing ever away from the shore. And I watch them sometimes and feel like calling out, running after them, desperately gathering their waves to me, watching them crash against one another and then drip off my fingertips, leaving me with only the memory of their presence. And then I rise up and brush off my hands and feel ready to move on. Is this growing up? Is this the path to becoming a woman? I think that becoming a woman happens when you're not looking, when you least realize it, when you think that you have been a child forever. When you realize, hey! I don't need this shit. That you can walk away and not crumble. Knowing you can decide that you're am not going to put up with people who make you feel bad. That you're **NOT** still in juniour high, playing stupid mind games and intrigues. That there are better things to do with your time and better people to do it with too. You notice slowly that you reason like a woman, you hurt like a woman, you dream like a woman and, most of all, you love like a woman. There is rocky road ahead (and it's not half as tasty as New York Super Fudge) but I think I am tired of the petty childish world. "I have miles to go before I sleep..." and I'm ready to become a woman. Lord help me. 1:14 a.m. - 7/16/2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Crisis on the Storm Front I have a friend. He is like a brother and we are close in ways that most people can not understand, given that we dont spend a lot of time together or require much upkeep. He is one of the best friends I have. I have a friend. She is golden and beautiful and compassionate. She is one of my angels, a circle of close girlfriends that has developed wings of its own after a time. She became an angel a bit later than the others but has become no less important to me. She is my angel of Love. She is one of the best friends I have. For a time it seemed like things were perfectly in harmony. And these two friends I feel closest to in the world were together and loved each other desperately and deeply. They both grew together and learned so much about themselves from their relationship. Time has harsh realities sometimes. My angel of love grew to understand some things about herself that she might not have fulyy seen before she left for Africa. Now that she is home, thier relationship has become a crumble of idealized love and misgivings and hurt. There is a feeling that no matter how much they love each other, this isn't the life that Fate has laid out for both of them. He is heartbroken, hating the idea of love. Hating the vulnerable mess that she has drawn out of his skeptical cynical heart. He is wounded by the trust that he'd developed by loving her. Incredibly stunned by his understand ing of love and the pain of losing a woman he would follow to the ends of the earth. She, too, is wounded by love. Torn by loving him so much it hurts to think of it and yet knowing that this realtionship is walking in a circle with no end in sight, a path that will grow more painful to travel as time goes by, crippling both of them. So I sit here. Too alarmed to know which direction to pull myself. My angels will band together to catch her. We must also band otogether to catch him. We share a circle of love that must absorb some this shock and cradle them both for awhile. How to do this, I know not. Like the blind leading the blind, I suppose. And so it goes... 12:46 a.m. - 4/7/2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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