curiouser and curiouser.

Does anyone ever think that maybe, the people you care most about just don't care? I find myself wondering from time to time whether they listen when I start to talk. They may say they "listen," but isn't all that means is that they heard it, and it's over? It doesn't seem to imply that anyone cares when I speak of things that went on during my day. No one does. So I stopped talking about them. They don't make any difference, even to the people who care the most. So those things stay between me, my wall, and God. Then when my periodical contributions to conversation are shrugged off or ignored, I quit talking. And yet people wonder why I tend to stay silent as long as I can. I don't think anyone likes to have something they thought about and considered a valuable comment pushed off to the side or go unheard.

So I people-watch, instead of talking. People can see my face (or so it seems), so I try to show what I wish I could say through my expressions. But when no one watches me, I watch them. I notice things other people may not, because I refrain from speaking. I don't refrain because I don't wish to say anything, rather, because I wish to be heard and cannot. I have so many things I would like to say. But they don't matter to anyone, so I don't waste my breath. No, I watch the interactions between people. The way they shift when they say something, or when someone else does. The things I know about people contribute. If someone expresses disdain for a thing I know another party to the conversation cares a great deal for, I notice the way the latter moves uncomfortably. When someone refuses to look directly into another's eye. Just little things.

But I watch because I would rather, than for anything I may have to go uncared for. Because they aren't. I am guilty of it, as well. But it doesn't mean that it may hurt any less when it happens to me. I try as hard as I might to care for things people say. But more than that, I try to remember them. I know from personal experience how nice it is when people remember small things, that I may have thought no one would bother to notice.

Does it really matter? Probably not. But it pains me to know that the high expectations I have of the people I care the most about are going to be continually shorted, but even so, that I continue to impose them, knowing they will not be achieved. It isn't fair of me to put them there, but I suppose it is human nature that I still do so. I'm trying to work on that. It is very slow going.

I guess the point of all this is just to say: sure it doesn't matter to you. But couldn't you care, just because you care for me (or for anyone else)? Out of all the people in this world, I know I am not the only person who thinks this.

Pardon me if I have made no sense. My mind is a scary, mixed up "Wimoweh" sort of jungle. If you did, I am glad, but if not, I understand. And I am used to it, besides. I'll get by.

And now that I have finally spoken my full mind on something, I will go back to people-watching. Maybe one of these days, you'll see a book by me on my observations. People can be curious things. We do curious things, and say curious things.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English).

waiting in the window

Hm. I liked it better last night.



I met a man while out one day,
But we had met before
He told me I should see my Father
It'd been many years and more
I saw my Father and embraced Him
I told him of the man I'd met
And how I came to love him so
My Father was quite exuberant
He'd planned it all before
I could have married Him, my love
But I had chosen to ignore

My love, He left to make a place for us
And told me He'd return
So I must wait quite patiently
Being sure to take concern
My things must all be ready
For I know not when He'll come
A hope chest filled with dreams and things
Candlewax, and few doilies, but some
So He can see by night, I'll keep
A lantern in the window
And I shall watch from there

I am now ready, for it would never do
To be soiled from up and cleaning house
When my beloved came through
But my Father picked a dress for me
For mine was not quite white
And now I am prepared for Him
He could come most any night
I shall wait quite eagerly
In my window, there
That I can see so clearly
My perfect Bridegroom, my lovely prayer