Jungle Feet

OK, I said it. I am down and dreary. Lonely for a life that has people that are excited to be here and don't just sit in front of the t.v. all day. I am depressed because I am being driven out of my family by ways of apathy and hopelessness. For 17+ years I have modeled a way of living in the world that inspires me, excites me, brings on exhileration and it has been dripping down a hole so deep that apparently it will never fill up and replenish. If I want to get my rocks off; I have to go pretty much by myself because no one else wants to join. I can't explain how sad this makes me feel. Not only does no one in my family care to share my life and interests with me, my values and preferences have become a cross that they feel they must bare. This type of response to my energy is unwarrented. I have increased my time spent honoring and respecting, investing and listening, understanding and helping materialize each of my family's most precious values and it is me who must go w/o. I am exhasted. And some of the days get spent counting until its done. I have not lost site of myself and my barings, but I have begun to resent marriages that revive and rejuventate after the years of hard work. And I will be lonely for a mate - I thought I had a soulmate but he doesn't want to be bothered with me and my fanciful adventures, he prefers I spend these hours on the fringe of his life. Ouch.

Lost. I lost the whole post. The pieces of my mind were spilling over onto the textbox like handfulls of sheep's wool turning into spun yarn; they were ready for weaving. But my webpage was open in some hyperspace place that was not locked on to the orginal portal so when I clicked "save" and returned to my screen; the admin requested I sign in again.

I was writing, no digging, shovel by shovel to unearth my questions to the universe. It started with a description of the way I like to keep my nest: just a lil' bit orderly, less the obessiveness and conformity that comes from places like Linen's & Things. Then I was tapping out adventures, desires, and preferences which were leading to the head waters of a river. It ended with something that had something to do with a book on the bedside table.

For me, it is sad to loose a piece. It is very seriously gone from my experience and furiously futile to try and recover. Not only do the key words and phrases reunite with the paper as stilted, jarring, blottages, like spit tags labeling stools for the garage sale; they have no blood or oxygen by the time they are recovered.