The problem with loving people is that it leaves you exposed to pain, and you can't just decide to quit doing it. This is one of the most beautiful, and most sucky, features of human nature.
It was a good Thanksgiving. There was a very lazy start of the day, as I got home from work and goofed around on the Internet, and my kids got up and watched the Macy's parade and played video games. I got the webcam set up so that wlofie could enjoy the festivities with the rest of the family. The kiddos came with me when I picked up Mischief, and after a couple aborted attempts, we found an open store and got supplies.
It was kind of a relaxing day, but then again, I wasn't cooking. Napalm and Mischief did turns in the kitchen, as it's really only big enough for one person to move freely. They made a damn fine meal and desserts. Off and on the kids watched cartoons. I shared the banter with wlofie via AIM session on the laptop. Kires arrived and we all chowed down appreciatively. The meal was really, really, good.
By the end of it, I was up four hours past my bedtime and it was showing. Maybe it was just as well that plans to go out and then go home with Kires didn't pan out. When I did fall asleep, I slept for 11 hours.
I usually accomplish 5 or 6 on a good night. 3 or 4 on a typical weekend night.
I woke up feeling hung over, though I hadn't drunk anything. And I felt depressed. I do now. My eyes felt like I'd been crying all night, and my spirit felt the same, so maybe I did while I was sleeping. I dunno.
The problem with loving your friends is that you can't do anything about it. One friend I love dearly is incommunicado because I refuse to be his girlfriend. He's so lonely, and he writes about how lonely he is and how badly he needs friends. And here I am, having always been a good friend, always ready to be that friend. And he cuts me off because he wants something more of me that I can't give him. And another friend I love dearly routinely goes back for extra helpings of abuse, even though he clearly knows that's what he'll get, squandering what's beautiful and precious about him on someone who cannot care. It's heartbreaking.
The problem with getting older is that you see enough patterns to be able to complete them without effort. Then you have to decide whether to care or not. Deciding not to care makes you feel inhuman, and you hate yourself. Deciding to care makes you feel powerless, and you hate yourself. What then? Some kind of indifference? Some kind of sympathetic half-caring? I don't know.
I want the people I love to be happy and healthy, despite themselves. Try as I might, I haven't been able to help that happen.
