(Over)thoughts | A glimpse into the chaos.

Tunnels

Posted on March 3 2012 by J.W. Richmond

The questions only lead me
to more questions.

I crawl
     deeper
          into the cavern
                       wind my way through tunnels
                                                and chasms,
following trails
                              that circle over
                                         each
                                                    other.

Answers remain scarce
                       elusive
                       broken
                       blurry
                       empty.

Climbing on queries,
      slipping on
                  theories,
     pondering concepts,
           I pry open the systems,
                             throwing
                                          pieces
                                                        aside.

Scraping my knees
     on sharp rocks
         and dead ends,
                       I head further in.
The cold walls hide clues
                               and bury them
                         in the dark corners.

I chase the shadows
       as I trip
                over
                    suspicions,
    smack my head on a stalactite
                           and
                           fall
                               into another question.

Cover

Posted on March 2 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I know.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

I’ve heard it.
I believe it.

But do I do it anyway?

She was just another girl in the dorms, friends with my friends.
We knew each other peripherally,
but we weren’t really friends.

A year later, I was living in another apartment complex, and she moved in next to me. Mutual friends lived downstairs so we ended up interacting. A lot.

Somehow we started to become actual friends.

We couldn’t have been more different.

Different values
            priorities
            views
            looks
            clothes
            lives
            everything.

We got to know each other
                                     beyond
                                            all the initial reactions
                                                        and responses.

That apartment complex was short-lived since I ended up moving away to go to school. I had no idea she had already applied to go to that same school, and a few months later, she moved there too.

In another strange twist of weird reality, we ended up as roommates. And we didn’t hate each other!

Through graduations
           moron guys
           broken relationships
           questions about life
           relocations
       long distances
           job changes
       eventually marrying great guys
           kids
           surgeries
           everyday life
           tragedies…
                we have been there for each other.

She has remained my friend
and has gained the right – and privilege
to call me out when I am an idiot.

I don’t usually think of myself as judgmental,
but maybe I can be.
Maybe I disregarded her as a friend
too early on.

Fifteen years after we originally passed by each other in those halls, she and I are still friends – the kind of friends who catch up in an instant, like no time ever passed in the first place.

I would have never pegged us as being friends in the first place, much less lifelong friends.

She was unexpected.

And I’m so grateful we both took the chance
to get to know each other
despite ourselves.

Doll

Posted on February 24 2012 by J.W. Richmond

My sister used to dress me up
like a doll.

Big fancy dresses,
      tons of make-up,
      and extravagant props,
           using backdrops specifically for the photos,
                                 of course.

I thought dolls were boring.

How do you build something with a doll?
     Or make a doll move
           with gears
     and pieces that fit together
              so you could make them do something
                                        interesting?
Even a blank piece of paper had more potential than a doll.

And the way my sister pulled my hair –
                    trying to curl it
            putting it up in some fancy-schmancy way – hurt.
                                              A lot.
      It was always too big,
            and the hairspray stunk.

Not to mention it was a l o n g time to sit still.

Complete torture.

And I hated dresses.

Ech.

When I was older, she wouldn’t even let me leave the house until she approved of my outfit.

If When I came out of my room wearing something she didn’t approve of, she would actually make me go back to my room and change, which drove me crazy.

Whatever sort of style I had was probably due to Punky Brewster* not any fashion trend you would find in a magazine. No color-coordinated outfits, heels, fluffy dresses, little skirts, blouses… (Blouses? Really?)

And that drove her crazy.

My sister wanted me to have style and
             believed I had to match.
                         I couldn’t clash;
                         I had to be presentable.

I played along for a while because I cared about her –
and it was important to her.
She loved me and
took the time to try to help (my helpless self).

Eventually I had to learn how to gracefully say no
(I said learn),
and figure out how to be me – whoever that is.

I didn’t – don’t – do outfits.
I still hate dresses.

If I could, I would wear shorts and a t-shirt every day. Shoes if necessary, I guess. Done.

I could never be that doll.

I’m sure there are a lot of pictures of me in those photo shoots where I was upset or crying that never made it into the family albums, but I guess I have to admit some of those pictures are memorable – even if they aren’t really me.

If nothing else, I guess they deserve a good laugh.

Puppet

Posted on February 21 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Pushed
pulled

d r a g g e d

to the starting
X

    strings
           catching
        as they

           t
             a
             n
             g
            l
              e

into

        k
         n
             o
    t
       s.

Fiction intermingles
    with intent
        until only questions
            seep
            through.

Choices
have been

removed

from what’s next,
forced instead

            into
            specific
            slots,

              ignoring many years
          that have been spent,
    pulling out      motives
                  from what’s true.

Differences
leaving others perplexed,

yet pervasive

            in
            every
            thought,

    careful not to misrepresent
        the majority disguised as
                    the few.

Misunderstood
as confused or complex,

design
pushed

            into something it’s
                 not –
        going against
            what they said they meant,
        yet cutting off

everything

that
grew.

Customer

Posted on February 18 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Her husband was always so busy
that he didn’t seem to notice her anymore, she said.

He had school
           work
           sports
                  and she was an afterthought –
                                    if he thought of her at all.

They had a great love, once.

But.

But someone else had been paying attention – to her.
Someone else had told her she mattered.
She was important to him.

That was all she ever wanted.

This new guy barely knew her,
but he had noticed her.
And that was significant.

It had started out innocently.

Since she was a customer,
it was his job to notice her.
Nothing was inappropriate.

Until she went back there. Again. And maybe again after that.

He remembered her.
Smiles were exchanged.
They laughed and talked about the weather.

It hadn’t taken much.
She was finally important to someone
and their conversations
lengthened.

Coffee?
Why not?

They could just be friends.
They could get to know each other.

He paid attention to her,
         and she felt like she could talk to him
                 about anything.
                     Even about her husband
                              and the difficulties they had been having.

He listened
    offered advice
    comforted her
    reached out and
           touched her hand
                 as he looked into her eyes
                                and didn’t move his hand away.

She never meant to sleep with him.
She never thought it would go that far.
She never meant to be that person.

It had all seemed so innocent.
Where had she crossed the line?

How did she get here?

Judged

Posted on February 17 2012 by J.W. Richmond

She said – again –
I know.
I know what you’re going to say.

What had I actually said?
What was I saying?
What was she picking up on
that I had never actually said
out loud?

And was that a good
or bad thing?

She moved in with her boyfriend and told me
                   she knew what I would think,
                               but she had made her decision
                                                      and
                                     he was already living there
                                                            with her.

Would I
do I
still love her?
Would I still be there for her?

Of course!

I don’t think I had ever said
                                  I would
                               or wouldn’t [fill-in-the-blank].
      But whatever she got from me was clearly inferred
                                                            assumed.

In one sense, I am glad that I have been communicating
                                 what I believe
                                     and live (I hope)
                                             about marriage
                                               and love
                                               and relationships.

But those small bits of conversations with her
                               are also so sparse
                                             small
                                             minute
                                                  that they feel so
                                             incomplete.

I don’t think I have ever said – out loud to her – that I believe a live-in relationship outside of marriage isn’t the best decision.

But she got it anyway.

Have I said to her that if she chose to do [whatever] – that it would cause issues between us? Or that I would somehow break off the relationship with her if she chose something different?

No.

But maybe she heard something I didn’t say
or mean.

I can go back over
and over
what I said.

As far as wanting to convey that a particular decision wouldn’t be good for her, that came across to her – somehow.

Did I mean it to be taken so emphatically
strongly
powerfully?

Yes.

And no.

Did I mean to judge her
or for her to feel judged?

Absolutely not.

And since this entire conversation
                         or conversations
                   seemed to happen
                           without my actually saying anything,
                       how do I communicate in the future
                           what I really meant to say,
                             or need to say
                                           in actual words?

Off

Posted on February 11 2012 by J.W. Richmond

A couple chords into the song and I am right back there again…

Leaning back on the arm of that cushy chair in the large, open living room, staring at the wood ceiling of the cabin, with my headphones on. It was a cold, winter day in the mountains – crisp, but sunny.

I didn’t know what,
but something was wrong.
Something was
off.

I could add up the pieces I had, but I was missing many.

She wasn’t there. That was the biggest piece.

I wasn’t aware at the time that the song I was listening to
was filling in the pieces for me –
before I ever knew the truth.

Without knowing the meaning behind it, I listened to the song over and over, because it meant something. It was repeating something important.

Remorse.
Guilt.
Shame.

Apology.

Other pieces were revealed later. She had been with someone else, and he was married too. They had started down the road to an affair, and it had all surfaced that morning.

When I got home, I called her. We were just starting to become friends, but I still felt like I should have known – somehow.

She and her husband hadn’t been doing well for a while. She loved him, but she had also developed strong feelings for this other guy. They had crossed significant lines and she was embarrassed about what had happened, and about other people knowing.

She said she just wanted her husband to pay attention to her.

She was sorry. For all of it.

And she had never meant to find that somewhere else.
She had never meant to find someone else.
She hadn’t even realized she had been looking elsewhere.

How did everything get so out of control?

'I can only give you everything I've got…
I know fine well that what I did was wrong…
And I don't know where to look
My words just break and melt
Please just save me from this darkness'

– “Make This Go On Forever,”
Snow Patrol

Plot

Posted on February 10 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I would love to write a novel someday.
Or at least something bigger than a short story.

But I am horrible at plot.

What do I need in a movie
                             TV show
                                or
                             book?

Plot.

But everything I come up with
                    seems like it has been done before.
              It’s derivative.
            Or incomplete.

I’m not so bad with characters
                           voices
                           dialogue
                           situations
                           setting. (I think.)

But that essential plot
is deficient.

Maybe it’s because my life is basically plotless.

The other characters – people,
       their specific voices,
       the dialogue between them
                        around them
                        with me,
       the situations where we or they interact, and
       the setting where everything takes place,
                      leave no room for plot.

Do I have conflict?
          Absolutely.
Do characters change over time?
          I think (hope) so.
Do big things happen that impede daily existence?
          Not every day,
               but more than enough.

Is a big dramatic element present?
I don’t think so.

My life could never be a reality show.
Which is totally fine by me.

But I would probably never read that book.
And I turn those shows and movies off.

I just wish sometimes that I could

insert

          some small but great version of a plot,
                  purely for the sake of the story
                            that could be written.

Hiccup

Posted on February 4 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I try to hold it back
          stifle it
          quiet it,
                and OUCH.

If I could just force myself
to stop breathing for a second,
I could almost – OUCH – get a word in.

But if I let myself breathe
      or try to hold my breath
      or try to not breathe at all –
                                   OUCH.

And I can’t help it.

It – OUCH – forces itself into the conversation
                                          thought
                                          sentence
                                                    and interrupts

OUCH

everything.

Us

Posted on February 1 2012 by J.W. Richmond

As long as we are a team, I think I can push through anything
and force myself to keep going.

But when Jeff and I are disjointed
     when there is something between us
     when we aren’t a team about something – anything,
                                      it’s like I lose my ability to function.

I was so independent before him.

Allowing myself to need him – in any way –
      and learning to trust
                     that he wouldn’t change his mind
                         or decide to leave at any random occasion
                                 has been a journey worthy of Edmund.*

But things inevitably get in the way. All it takes is that one tiny thing to introduce a crack in the team. If there was something slightly split in the first place, that tiny splinter could sever it entirely.

That little, practically nothing ~~expletive~~ splinter
                          can work its way into your bloodstream,
                                        travel to your heart
                                                and kill you.

I can handle it – whatever it is (I think) – as long as we are us.

But as soon as that is put into question,
              if we aren’t on the same page,
                 I lose my footing and the loud,
                                                 pounding,
                                                   fast,
                                                 impending music starts to play
                                          and my body jerks
                                                     as it slams back into the corner.

I can’t even form actual words,
much less fight
or push on to an actual cause.

The concept of team doesn’t even describe it.
It’s so much more than that.

We are intrinsically linked by a supernatural force that keeps the universe in harmony.

And when there is any sort of interruption,
                      the entire core shakes,
                      and threatens to shatter
                                      and smash everything
                                                    into tiny,
                                                          chewable
                                                              pieces.

We need to be us again before I can function in any other capacity.

Jeff is important to my basic survival – because I vowed that day that I would be with him.

Always.

It was a commitment to prioritize us
                  and never let anything else separate us –
                  which is why I have this driving need for us to be okay,
                                                             for us to be a team
                                                             for us to be linked
                                                             for us to be a partnership.

Because as much as I need to make sure I don’t lose myself in this crazy world, being us is far more important.

When we aren’t right, I can’t even breathe.

Saying I love you doesn’t – and didn’t – mean it feels good right now to say these lovey-dovey, cutesy words.

It means we are connected to each other in a way
that is bigger
than just us.