From: merde@crl.crl.com (Meredith Tanner)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: tinnitus
Date: 4 Dec 1997 00:36:54 -0800
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i have nothing eloquent or elegant to say.  no gentle words 
that inspire others to admire my sensitivity.  no rounded
edges, no soft corners, no veiled threats, no feminine 
flourishes to make men build ridiculous idealized images
of me in their heads and send me volumes of this-isn't-
horndog-mail.  these days, not even a misleading name to
make them guess at the color of my hair.  not that i'd want
that.  not exactly.  but not wanting and not wanting are
worlds apart.

and my head is buzzing, and i can't help wondering when is
the big payoff, when do i get what i wanted instead of what
everyone else wanted, why is it that when i've never cared
about money and careers that i am suddenly blessed with both, 
but the things that are really important, that i work for and
dream of, are always on the wrong side of the shop window.
where's my surprise party, where's my cake and ice cream,
where's my dozen roses, where's my unconditional love?

i was probably daydreaming when they called my name.  or
somehow even when i was doing the right thing someone knew
that i thought the wrong thing.  i said a bad word, i 
stepped on a crack, i rocked the boat, i broke a mirror.
forthrightness doesn't pay, because people don't like
inconsistency.  they don't want to have to think, or look
too far, or see too clearly.

when you live in reality, where the sharp edges are, your
friends won't come visit you much.  but it's not that they
don't miss you, no, it's just that they don't want to lose
their parking space.  but if you could just go to them -- 
never mind that the fuzziness of it all makes you itch.  
if you care, you make the sacrifice, right?  only here's 
the trick -- you'll always be the one making the sacrifice,
because there is no equality in the universe.  it is either
you going to someone or someone going to you; you loving
someone or someone loving you; you admiring someone or
someone admiring you.  the balance of mutuality is a
fantasy.  it isn't real.  you can't touch it.

but "who ever said life was fair?" bellowed my father at
the top of his lungs, when i was too young to handle the
truth, and it burned my fingers and now my tactile sense
is dulled.  i'm sensitive under the surface, where you
can't touch.

you can't touch balance, and you can't touch me.  whether
i am balance or the equal-and-opposite is left as an exercise
to the reader.  or i could just be lying through my teeth.

m

fuzzy like fiberglass
-- 
a large viper must be swallowed with extreme caution