I need to be ridiculous. If you like, you can ride along, but I'll warn you, the turns and stop signs wont make any sense to you. They dont make any sense to me either.
I have no right to be self righteous, and no justification either. But I have to cry out that I'm thoroughly sick of this twisted parade that charges through Hannibal, grimy hands grasping at meaning and coming up with cheap, plastic, flashy tokens. I'm under this thumb that insists if I keep my nose stuck in Bible and positive atitudes then any thirst I ever had will be not be satiated, but tolerated. Shh, shh, don't yell, don't make a ruckus. You see, we have outlined this dotted line for you to walk easily, smoothly, jauntily. Don't tap on the glass. Just keep your eyes in front of you and you'll never know that this is a joke.
I'm tired of defending you. the Men in fancy Christian tuxedos and tails are mice in satin jackets. They play their shiny guitars and write their stupid songs that have been sang in the same way for the past 100's of years, and not in a good way. Don't you dare suggest a better option. Don't you dare. It's not about beauty, its about glory. Don't get your terms mixed up, and don't correct the Bible Majors.
Please.
Don't get me wrong. some of the Men really are men. I am cynical because when you play, you don't play your heart. you spit back what you think you've heard, and its disgusting.
I'm being ridiculous and as I wildly steer sometimes things are incorrect and sometimes things are right on target, and sometimes things are just in between.
But I'll not justify your actions anymore. Not when you lie about your department and run your teams without integrity and riddle them with favoritism. I've filtered quite enough and if I continue to bite my tongue then my mouth will only fill with blood and I'll drown. The men are mice who follow all the right rules but would rather hide behind a keyboard than pursue like the warriors they were designed to be. I'll go out with Neil if I damn well please, especially if all you do is choose to sit there and feel sorry for yourself. I'm used to fighting by myself. If you don't dare to get your lazy butt off of your computer chair and fight for your lady, then your lady will just hike up her dress, design her own sword and shield, ignore your battle, and fight for herself--and never, ever look back. I don't want to be the brave one anymore and I resent you for asking me to. i'm sick of trying to dress up mice like men. its time for you to decide. are you a man? or are you a mouse?
I'm surrounded by an odd Underland where Men are sometimes mice and Women are sometimes rats. But, if you take your eyes of the bitterness if only for a moment, sometimes you find the flower under the rock that you've been looking for all along.
I'm lucky to have the friends I have. They are beautiful all the time.
Tomorrow I'll wake up from this silly dream and rebow the ties to my filter once again. I give thanks for you patience and can only explain that I needed a moment to breathe. Once I've taken a breath, then i can straighten and journey back into the parade--if only to finish. And once I do, I'll happily throw off the mask. Until then, I'll keep adoring my King who is lovely beyond all compare, and waiting for my prince who may or may not come.
This ride is conclusion-less. But I think I'm ready now.
Good night. Tomorrow will be a new morning.
Part of me was about ready to jump out of my chair and start cheering. Except...I don't know the situation referred to so I hesitated. Anyway, I love reading your posts. You're always so genuine and real about your emotions and feelings. I want to be more like that.
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