You had guests tonight so I parked at the gate. I really came to see BeetleHat so don't get a swelled head. I thought we might talk about the Project Pupae. Maybe call Lunah and get her opines on the character pics. You know, toss around names, sketch out some skills. The Project will be my first real game as a designer. A game for my career, from my imagination. Not ministry like MG3K. Not so real it seems like truth.
"You are so flawed," a total stranger emailed me today. Two days after I removed the moderating feature on my account. Wow. Am I now? Thou shalt not judge except on Tuesdays, I guess. I suppose the next message will continue to try to shake me down until I repent and turn to the covenant of stupidity and ignorance. Whose way leads to more death and hatred? Big question. Try it on for size. Hard question.
After laying back on the bike for an hour, I started to think maybe you had an overnight visitor. I'd left my cellphone at home. The stars are incredible above your dark circle of land. I think I could rise forever. How melodramatic is that? But so true. Lay on your back and tell me I lie. Tell me that under that sky of gems and inky night you don't feel yourself rise. You are part of that marvel. That great wheel.
Laying back, I was a bit above the holly leaves you've woven through the wrought iron gate. I love that. You've stretched the deep green and pale green of the leaves and twined the stems that whole fifteen foot length. A living thing that stretches across the drive.
"You are so flawed," I said to myself. I'm talking to myself more and more now. With dad gone, maybe I'm talking to him. A friend, not a stranger, Jared said with a gentle smile, "You're getting too emo. Come for dinner. Jay will make miso steak." I don't want miso steak, Jared. I don't want to see you and Jay so happy. I don't want to hear about the GLBT-friendly Mormon scripture study group you formed. I'm not ready to be happy. Not today.
We're made with a gorgeous range of emotion. But when we're honest about our feelings, because they are all cliche and documented in textbooks, by Hollywood and on YouTube, we're seen as broken, lesser, immature. "Oh, look at that teen angst!" we all laugh and point. Funny, but I don't remember my teen years being laughable. "Oh, look at her doing the stages of grief thing." Please. Shut your mouth, Fiend.
Or better yet, buddy, instead of sending me an email, why don't you come on over and let me kick your ***. I need a good anger release.
Keeping on, keeping creative.
Love you. You know it.
E.J.
