LET THEM BE THE INK, INSTEAD.
LET THEM BE THE INK, INSTEAD.
You know –and you get a kick when you know it, but the very best is that they don’t know you know. And you observe them, like a predator observes its pray, moving careless and unaware of its vulnerability. You savor initially that knowledge with a crooked smile and feel an intense pleasure. Information is power, they say, and information that falls unintentionally on your lap is the most powerful of all…
It is a rush -but the rush evolves and mutates, and most of the time not in a wood way. Is the secret meant to be concealed? Is it meant to be discovered? A secret is (almost) never a good thing, and (almost) always conceals some harm, some betrayal or some deceit…
As you are damn good collecting secrets as you are keeping them, the question remains…what do you do, then, when the rush settles and the the pain of those secrets smack you in the face?
How do you keep playing the secret?
The office Christmas party is tonight and I didn’t have to prepare much when I had to think of a perfect outfit. I master my heels and LBDs so that is a no-brainer. Or at least it is until 24 hours before the party, when thanks to impulse shopping a way too colorful dress lays on my bed ready to go.
How bad can it be? Not that bad if one is used to, but until the feeling settles inn, I feel like a damn cupcake bathed on Pantone 253, so when I walk into the party and I feel I am being noticed on a sea of dark suits and LBDs, and past the first looks -I get confident and happy I didn’t put on my own and safe LBD. Things change when after listening to a brief speech, I walk into the bathroom to reapply lipgloss and when l slightly turn, l must lean over to check and confirm that I have 2 bite marks on my naked shoulder. Fuck, I think while having a mini heart attack, fuck, fuck, fuck…I did stand right in front of several big bosses during the speech…
As my confidence vanishes, I pick up the phone and yell at him, I notice AttentionWhore couldn’t be happier, no, prouder, of his actions. Feeling much insecure about me going out tonight, honey? I don’t see his face, but I swear hi is smiling proudly.
Some minutes to recap, a party-cigarrete outside and I wonder, why I kinda panicked, and I freaked out in my own insecurity for looking like I shouldn’t be looking tonight, and at the end, I too, begin to smile: well, let’s be proud! Proud for being in my 40’s and feeling awesome, and have a good and passionate sex life.
On the dance floor one picks up on the vibe and traces the bites with one hand as holds me tighter with the other. An elegant retreat and a phone call to go home.
While I wait to go home, I wonder about actions and reactions, about what we do, about the intentions we do them with and the snowball that can turn unexpectedly direction. And I wonder that sometimes insecurities may leave us defenseless and sometimes, without warning, defensive.
I know I am pretty damn compulsive -I have been all my life despite I chilled out much after I got kids. I got no other choice, really, but still I find myself going nuts if I see mess around me.
So when the dryer machine starts making noises, I put on my Bob the Builder and I nearly put the house on fire, I find my laundry room looking like a fucking gypsy camp doing a yard sale. And when the new machine is in place (and l swear it smiles to me when I turn it on) my inner peace is restored again.
Was it legal, I would marry my dryer.
Later on at night, I come to think how important is to have convenience in my life; more than important, necessary. My life is so incredibly hectic that don’t know how I would manage without my appliances and/or my gadgets. I am sure I would manage, because they did manage before and they managed fines, so wound’t I?
A 3 year old told her mom, a co-worker: “hours are shorter now than before”. My colleague told her no, that an hour is an hour; that sixty minutes are sixty minutes before and now. “You always say that you have less time now, and that you did get more things done before” answer the kid.
I know an hour is an hour, but l get the kid’s point. I used to go to the beach with a bottle of water, a pack of cigarettes and a towel. Now, my logistic strategies to get out of the house with all the necessary shit for the kids would get me a job in NASA. So why it feels like that? Does life get that complicated with time or we make it more complicated? How (I know I would but how) I would manage without all the things which make my life more convenient? Things make life more convenient, but for what? to have more time? Because I keep running short of time no matter what…
Solution may lay on my own child labour (eventually husband), but I am not all that sure that is a correct to say aloud…
tr.v. en·tan·gled, en·tan·gling, en·tan·gles
1. To twist together or entwine into a confusing mass; snarl.
2. To complicate; confuse.
3. To involve in or as if in a tangle.
Yes, twist me, entwine me, complicate me…
… but never let go.