I have come to hate that question, as much for it’s innocence as for it’s insistence. It’s one of those rare questions that means nothing but good, is a benchmark of good will, and solicits only caring.
And yet, hearing it makes me cringe, every time. I hate not being able to say “I’m fine! The sun is shining and birdies are chirping outside my window. It’s a glorious day!” which is of course what the questioner wants to hear. The window of opportunity to actually say that is so bloody rare and short, I almost always disappoint them, and by extension, myself.
So when I got the question again, the prickly guy answered, “I’m still alive.”
Not terribly poetic, and certainly not upbeat, at least it was not the usual litany of problems.
What I got back was the usual, “I’m glad.” and that got me thinking.
So many people say that and I usually grin and wave it off. Conditioned to accept it, you might say.
But there are thankfully rare times *I* am not glad, and without fail, every time I say that I get hit with the always popular “Dont say that!” spoken as though disobedience of the command were unimaginable.
Wait, whoa. You arent allowed to tell me how to think. What’s the deal? Why cant I be allowed to feel crappy enough that a dirt nap would be preferable?
Why ask the question if you are unwilling to accept all possible answers?
Sorry folks, I’m a package deal, and yes, sometimes my thoughts are morbid like that. Fine and dandy that you dont agree with them, but you simply dont get to tell me I’m not allowed to think them. It comes a little too close to “It’s okay to be gay, as long as you keep it hidden.”
Is that stretching things too much? I dont know. I’m an observer that’s too close to what he’s observing to see the whole scope. Someone else will have to adjudicate that one.
In the meantime, dont ask if you dont *really* want to know. You may not like the answer. :)
Patric
When Angels Fall
ZA Maxfield
Once, you asked me what manner of being I am. I told you then, because you could never understand, I simply am.
I am lighter than air. I am denser than gold. I am taller than your largest building, and I can fit inside the crystalline structure of the finest flake of snow. I am immense, yet I could dance with my peers on the head of a pin.
But I won’t. Dancing on the heads of pins seems like an extraordinary waste of time, unless you ask it of me.
I suppose it never occurred to you that I do everything you ask of me and more because in all the worlds you are the only one to whom I will ever say, “I am yours.”
Why?
When you were very young you found a yellow pup and coaxed it to you, luring it with soft sounds and gentle hands. You knew everything it would ever be, just as I know the whole truth of you. You didn’t wait for it to grow or prove itself; you simply knew that you would be there for him in all his moments, from the first time he pushed his damp black nose into your palm to the very last time he lifted his gray muzzle from his paws and you saw farewell in his sad brown eyes.
This is what you are to me. You are mine. I have foreseen it.
My peers are everywhere around me, just as yours surround you. Waking, sleeping, working, playing. Yet in the entire universe there is only we.
And today… Since you’ve chosen today —this very moment— to step through a rotting board and slip into an abandoned mine, this is the day we begin…
When Kip hit the damp ground beneath what appeared to be a hole of rotting wood planks and thin earth, he got the breath knocked out of him so hard that he guessed he’d blacked out. The next thing he knew he was leaning against something warm and soft, and emitting what sounded like frightened huffs of breath.
Kip wanted to find out what he was up against, but he could barely see a clumpy ceiling of mud held together by roots that dangled from it like strings in the dim light that filtered through the
And yet, hearing it makes me cringe, every time. I hate not being able to say “I’m fine! The sun is shining and birdies are chirping outside my window. It’s a glorious day!” which is of course what the questioner wants to hear. The window of opportunity to actually say that is so bloody rare and short, I almost always disappoint them, and by extension, myself.
So when I got the question again, the prickly guy answered, “I’m still alive.”
Not terribly poetic, and certainly not upbeat, at least it was not the usual litany of problems.
What I got back was the usual, “I’m glad.” and that got me thinking.
So many people say that and I usually grin and wave it off. Conditioned to accept it, you might say.
But there are thankfully rare times *I* am not glad, and without fail, every time I say that I get hit with the always popular “Dont say that!” spoken as though disobedience of the command were unimaginable.
Wait, whoa. You arent allowed to tell me how to think. What’s the deal? Why cant I be allowed to feel crappy enough that a dirt nap would be preferable?
Why ask the question if you are unwilling to accept all possible answers?
Sorry folks, I’m a package deal, and yes, sometimes my thoughts are morbid like that. Fine and dandy that you dont agree with them, but you simply dont get to tell me I’m not allowed to think them. It comes a little too close to “It’s okay to be gay, as long as you keep it hidden.”
Is that stretching things too much? I dont know. I’m an observer that’s too close to what he’s observing to see the whole scope. Someone else will have to adjudicate that one.
In the meantime, dont ask if you dont *really* want to know. You may not like the answer. :)
Patric
When Angels Fall
ZA Maxfield
Once, you asked me what manner of being I am. I told you then, because you could never understand, I simply am.
I am lighter than air. I am denser than gold. I am taller than your largest building, and I can fit inside the crystalline structure of the finest flake of snow. I am immense, yet I could dance with my peers on the head of a pin.
But I won’t. Dancing on the heads of pins seems like an extraordinary waste of time, unless you ask it of me.
I suppose it never occurred to you that I do everything you ask of me and more because in all the worlds you are the only one to whom I will ever say, “I am yours.”
Why?
When you were very young you found a yellow pup and coaxed it to you, luring it with soft sounds and gentle hands. You knew everything it would ever be, just as I know the whole truth of you. You didn’t wait for it to grow or prove itself; you simply knew that you would be there for him in all his moments, from the first time he pushed his damp black nose into your palm to the very last time he lifted his gray muzzle from his paws and you saw farewell in his sad brown eyes.
This is what you are to me. You are mine. I have foreseen it.
My peers are everywhere around me, just as yours surround you. Waking, sleeping, working, playing. Yet in the entire universe there is only we.
And today… Since you’ve chosen today —this very moment— to step through a rotting board and slip into an abandoned mine, this is the day we begin…
When Kip hit the damp ground beneath what appeared to be a hole of rotting wood planks and thin earth, he got the breath knocked out of him so hard that he guessed he’d blacked out. The next thing he knew he was leaning against something warm and soft, and emitting what sounded like frightened huffs of breath.
Kip wanted to find out what he was up against, but he could barely see a clumpy ceiling of mud held together by roots that dangled from it like strings in the dim light that filtered through the
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