My words are thrown like stones hitting a wall. They penetrate nothing. They fall to the ground in a pile of rubble. Not even the dust is able to rise around them.

Why do I continue to reach for another stone? Why can I not be released back into the lake of complacency where I was first ensnared? Why must the words be pulled like a child being ripped from a mother's womb? They breathe life and then they must be nursed. They are imperfect. They are demanding. They will ultimately control me.

Have mercy on me. I live in the abyss of mediocrity. This I know. And this I cannot endure.

I reach for another lovely stone...

Sunday, January 17, 2010


When I had to look up the word "hate" in the dictionary, I knew I had a problem.

It isn't that I don't have 'extreme hostility' towards drunk drivers, bad drivers and inconsiderate drivers. I certainly 'loathe' and 'detest' child molesters and murderers. Unreservedly, I possess a 'passionate dislike' to liver, income taxes and of course, the familiar fingernails on a chalkboard sound. But when it all comes down to having a 'feeling of dislike so strong that it demands action', I know I am a failure at the emotion of hate.

I searched and searched the center of my consciousness to come up with a hate directly succeeded by an action, to no avail. I only remember the proper parental response to those early traces of human rage as in "No, honey,we don't 'hate' anyone. We only dislike them for the moment." Or the teachers, Sunday School and all, trying their hardest to keep control, stating,"No,honey, we must love our neighbors as ourselves,." Or how about the 'make love, not war' banner? That one has filled me full of guilt since the sixties.,

No, I sit idly by as hate-filled jihadists behead my fellowman without cause. I say someone has to do something. Then I criticize the government for making me strip at airport security. I watch television shows that make whores out of women and say someone should stand up for our daughters. I don't turn the television off. I see children in other countries with fly-infested eyes and hunger-infested bellies and say someone needs to take care of them. I write a small check, drop it in the mail,and feel good about myself. I watch cancer take my best friend's femininity and then her life and I say someone needs to stop this from happening. I am still only crying.

I hate that I am unable to hate...


  1. Wow, intense, powerful. Deserving of expanded readership!
    Now what?

  2. I hate that I sometimes hate to much....

  3. Yes I hate, not as much as I did when I was younger. I have outlived some of those I hated. Is it wrong to be glad? Yes I hate still. Most of my hate is directed toward me for not being the person I could have been. Is that wrong? Not saying the things I should have said. Saying too much. My life is more than half over. So what now?