Broken Badger

A friend has dashed himself upon a rock.  Recovery seems likely.  Surgeons will have a chance to repair a man who may dance in the night and hold his friends upon his shoulders and press onwards into the bleakness.

I’ve sacrificed time from work, but I’d rather be here supporting my friend.  My wife is due to join this hospital crew that has bonded with her far away supporting but not present.  I am anxious about her arrival.  Something will be broken, urgently forgotten, needful in an angry almost-resentment “how dare you judge me for dropping all my chargers out the door, now go fix it”.  And she’ll be sloppy like she always is, hanging in a way that could be beautifully managed but won’t be, so it’s just ugly.  And through all that I cannot imagine the things she tells herself; she thinks them, I know she does, when we are most intimate and she reveals to me the self loathing she is capable of, yet cannot or does not do anything about it.  She’ll wear that tight fitting red shirt that’s a bit too small.  All of this makes me a bad man, according to her.

She’s a good woman with a tornado of porcupines.  I have been without her for 3 days and it feels like a vacation, her attention elsewhere and urgently needed to help arrange people and look after our child while I am here on the ground.  I love her.  And I am anxious about seeing her.  I desperately hope for things to be ok but it is kind of a foolish optimism isn’t it?

My friend.  Our friend.  Her friend.  He is hurting.  He needs love above anything.  He is getting it.

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Magical Airport

Hidden away in San Mateo County there’s a magical place… an airport in the mud banks of the Belmont Slough.  It occasionally spits out aircraft in little farts, barely noticeable below the belly roars of the endless jetliner traffic touching down in San Francisco.  The little man-birds fly against all odds into the soupy sky.  It’s a place where men lift from the ground and practice the most beautiful of all man-machine combinations.  Flying.

Mind zits

Sitting here, creating an account so I can applaud a worthy writer.  Moved to finally express a little bit of the many seemingly useless thoughts that wish to be promoted to blogs.

First item.  Life is an avalanche of choices.  Which log to put in the fire.  Which house to buy.  Which lifestyle to lead.  How to accept that you didn’t choose a mate as much as allowed life and your subconscious to choose a mate for you, and then provide enough trust in that mate to change your lifestyle, house, and log fire choices.

Making another animal feel safe is a real joy, and yet I’m such an asshole to so many people.  Life is full of these little paradoxes.