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2:51 p.m. - 2010-04-16
Truth Through Another Pane.

I know many of you have been concerned for me. Worried about what kind of mess I stepped into now. I appreciate it, truly, but Life is compromise, yes? Who among us can say their dreams came true? You make choices, that's all. If my life since splitting up with Mike isn't all bluebirds and happy, happy, joy, joy, at least it doesn't suck as hard as it used to, and that's what counts. Right?

I wanted to be a better mother than my own was. And while that bar was really, really low, I can look at myself in the mirror and know I was. A better mother, a good mom, and if guilty of anything it is only believing my sons had a broader view and more of a sense of humor than they actually had. They weren't beaten, used for money, duped, abused- physically or sexually, or enslaved. So.

If I am not famous or thin or well-moneyed, neither am I homeless (as I once was), or eating out of dumpsters (as I once did for the better part of a year), or on the dole (as I once had to be to get my son the proper healthful food) or completely worthless- anyone's meat (as I once had to be just to survive). I do okay these days. I make a scant living. I keep the roof over my head and that of my son's. My body is safe from predation. I eat every day. I rescued a dog. My cats are fat and glossy.

Is there more?

If there is, then it belongs to those who were braver, stronger, luckier.

I am none of those things.

And only luck is random. The other things are simply the result of strength of character, and I'm afraid I'm a bit deficient in that.

I don't blame. There's lots of others who've done more with less. After a while the ability to pop back upright like a weighted Bozo doll is just a fluke of nature, not any kind of symbol of fortitude. Some people are double-jointed, some possess the ability to get back up for another smack in the bazoo, that's all. Rope-a-dope can be a way of life. Too stubborn to stay down, too dumb to die.

No shame in being a Jill-of-all-trades, mistress-of-none, either. Somebody has to do the scut work. Polymorphs are people too. Even the ones who aren't Da Vinci. Mutability might not be one of the virtues, but it is necessary in the larger scheme. Where would we be without the unseen doers and tenders and menders? How far would we have come without those invisible toilers whose contributions don't reach very far but provide sustenance and janitorial supplies to those who burn brightly?

Being a little good at a lot of things might not be as rewarding as being really, really good at one thing, but it sure beats not being good at anything.

If I'm not fabulous. Or haven't lived up to my early promise. Or become what I once dreamed of becoming. Does it truly, really matter? No. There's two new human beings who are here because of me. And they may see their dreams to fruition. There's a dog who's not living in terror anymore. There's a couple of stray cats who have a home. There's a man who has a port in his storms that's better, safer, kinder than any he'd known before.

Is that so bad?


Does everyone have to matter?

'They also serve who only sit and type.'

Damn straight, they do. ~LA

7 Wanna talk about it!

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