Life can be SUCH a metaphor.
Yea, it’s me. Not in rare form or raring to go. But, here. Now. Still.
Has been a tough go:
Fighting the good fight, digging through grief and who gives a damn. The who gives a damn side has been putting up such convincing arguments, lately.
Staring at freshly made chili that I STILL can not eat. Dammit!…*Cassandra stares at fresh chili wondering what in the fresh hell is keeping that damned lid on!*🤬
Going back to a work assignment that was not fun the first, second, third or tenth time around but one that must be done. Fresh hell.
Staring in the mirror at this stranger who appears to be me. Yikes! Egads!
Waiting, on…
Waiting, for…
Waiting, with…
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
My heart, has been waiting.
For, years.
For, decades.
For, what?
You got me. I have been asking THAT question for the past 30 years. Something inside just won’t let me go. Just won’t leave me be.
That SOMETHING, keeps motivating me to keep going, to keep giving, to keep loving, to keep trying. Won’t say why. Just keeps pushing me, forward. Pushing me, upward. Pushing me, through.
Ack!
Dammit!
All this pushing is working my nerves having NO idea what all the fuss has been and is for.
Me?
Others?
God?
Life?
Fresh hell!
Here I sit, in a cold car, tapping by phone’s light, trying to figure out the mystery of life, THIS life, whilst cold fries have long signalled their defeat in a wilted non eatable mess. I feel you, fries!
The phrase about the grass being greener, on the other side, comes to mind. Seems as though us dummy humans are forever imaging what life would/could be like ‘if only this’ or if only that’.
Apparently, those ‘if onlies’ will swoop in and make our lives ‘better’. Better than what? Don’t ask me. I had been just a big a dummy as everyone else in waiting for, yearning for, raging about, the greener grass. There, on the other side of the catastrophe called our boring lives.
We look around and gaze fondly, at the neighbor’s yard. We gawk at how big, how beautiful, how plentiful, THEIR path of grass, appears to be.
What’s worse is we then look upon OUR particular, peculiar, old, dusty, spotty, non-growing, small, teeny, tiny, never-going-to-amount-to-anything plot of grass, and grieve about what will never be.
We look at other plots, at others shots, and stop taking our own. We fold our tent. We tell ourselves it will never be so we stop trying to make it be.
Truth be told, we stop trying. Subtly, so the world won’t know. We do, though.
We, make do.
We, settle.
We, make loud ruckus and do a bunch of bust work to drown out the pull, the call, the urging of that waiting. That waiting, that waits.
Still.
Always.
Calling, us.
Waiting, for us.
WHO waits?
WHAT waits?
Me?
Others?
God?
Life?
Fresh hell!
*Cassandra adds cold, lifeless fries to the chili she still can’t eat and waits for the green grass*
To be continued…
Cassandra
- COME SIT AT MY TABLE 🪑❤️🩹
- BELOVEDS, YOU CAN HAVE MY FLOWERS. I DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE.
- Forgive them, Cassandra, God said to me
- Still In Love
- REAL TALK: DESPISE NOT SMALL BEGINNINGS, BELOVEDS.👘🦺🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡⛑️🔌🕯️🔎🖌️🖋️📢
Why Can't I Be Loud?! 
Relieved to see you’re still posting. I missed your blog. Sending you strength across the pond. One day, Cassandra, you’ll be lifting the lid of that chili pot again!
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Good night. Stepping off the world for a bit does have it’s drawback as have a million posts to read and respond to. Only God knows what fresh levels of hell you have been up to foodwise!😱. Am going to be smart and eat BEFORE going back to your last. Think I am two weeks behind. Your posts were scary enough with the daily reading. 🤣
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