Ogres Are Like Onions

Recently, I've been talking a lot with a good friend of mine, who's favorite hobby is making me crack. I've still yet to figure if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.

I liken it to this old wooden cupboard that was passed down through several children in my family. It once belonged to my mother when she was little, was passed through some cousins, and eventually worked it's way down to myself, when I was a child.

Each family had repainted it, and by the time it got to me, it was white, and some places were flaking here and there. It wasn't long before I found myself peeling the chipping, flaking paint off, discovering the older layers of paint underneath. It was fascinating and satisfying to pull off strips of paint. To see the original color.

I have been stoic. Steel. Unfliching. Uncommunicative. It's been deeply satisfying to feel her pick at the blemishes of my armor, like strips of sunburned skin. To feel them pulled off and seeing the raw. To get down to the original.

But what do you see when you get there? Misery. In 1970s avocado green.

There's not much that can be done to improve my condition, for the nonce. (That means, "for now". LOL). So I'm not sure if there's a lot of point to share my feelings with anyone. I can feel miserable, but wrapped up in so many layers of armor and distraction I barely notice it, or I can peel open the layers and poke and prod at it and feel how exquisitely miserable I am.

Which is the better option? I don't really know. All I know is I just can't wait till my hubby completes his year long contract, finds a job closer to home, and I get a break. I do apologize for all my blogs being whiny and complaining, but this is the only place I let myself do it. Thanks for sticking around -- I promise you it will pick up!

This post has reminded me of a poem I once wrote though. I think this is the first time I've actually shared it with anyone because I've never considered it publish-worthy. But I digress. Here you go:

Sunburn

Sunburn
is an exquisite pain
causing a sharp throb
with every movement.
So unlike the cold,
who numbs you to sleep.

1998