Dangerous Compassions

uncomforting things

me:  My seatbelt is engaged.  I don’t know who would marry a seatbelt…

Ming:  Someone strapped for attention.

me:  You people who need foods to be a certain temperature–you know what you are?  You’re wimpy!

Ming:  You people who don’t need foods to be a certain temperature–you know what you are?

me:  Tough?  Awesome?  Cool?

Ming:  No.

me:  What are we?  Tell me!  Say it!

Ming explained how when people are abused, they learn to eat their food at any temperature, getting yelled at, waiting as they get yelled at, and then they’re still hungry, so they eat the food cold.  It was a sad explanation.  I wish he wasn’t right.

It was kind of a strange morning.  At Costco we bought two carts full of foods for the Sacred Peace Walkers.  Lots of snacks for the snack boxes–nuts, granola bars, craisins, cookies.  Some juice.  Lots of breakfast ingredients–tons of tortillas, five gallons of salsa, dozens of eggs, 50 pounds of potatoes, 30 pounds of onions…

I’m wearing my new dress.  My friend was drunk and over-joked with me about wanting Ming to go away.  I guess I look extra-hot when he’s drunk.  It was uncomfortable.  I’ve had enough of placating, avoiding, and putting up with drunk men for one lifetime.  Jeeze.

I told Ming, it almost makes me want to go back to wearing jeans every day.  I wear a dress for fun.

Now Ming is gone to the Goddess Temple with our friend to do some spring cleaning.  I want to rest.  But I’m actually planning, emailing, making lists.  Moving things around.

I opened a box of Wheat Thins.  One of the bags inside was totally open on the bottom, so when I pulled it out, crackers went everywhere.  I should sweep.

I bought some beef jerky.  I told my friend, I never bought beef jerky in my life.  I thought it would be a nice treat for the complainy omnivores around Thursday.  But it was expensive, maybe a luxury item, and I shouldn’t have.

Life’s strange.  I want a hug.  It’s fly season again.  One got in and is making imaginary shapes in the air with its kitchen flight.  Different flies want different things.  Some stay mid-room.  Some buzz frantically at the windows.  Some bother you.

I want to go out for vegan hamburgers, so deliciously comforting, and sit with Ming at a table, just me and him.  But it’s not time for that. 

I want a lot of comfort.  What’s comforting, in this world.  I have a list of comforting things I wrote down in my journal.  At least the wind died down.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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