Beyond pathetic confession

My mom is loving the coverage of the royal wedding. She tells me that I should love it too since I am able to see pictures of London. She's always known my fascination with going there and always poopoos the idea. I'm safer here, it's been cosmically worked out to be the case. It doesn't stop me from wanting to go to England, but it's impossible. I've tried before, you just get to a point where you give up trying. If you're reading and thinking "Buck up and try harder!" it's not so simple, there are literally forces working against me travelling anywhere outside a 1000 mile radius of Los Angeles, and it;s too complicated to explain.

So, leaving the royal coverage that I should be so thankful is delivered directly to my television, seeing the church polished and preened, the streets, the old doors and architecture and flags and trees and beauty of London, I hop on my bicycle and ride to the corner market to buy a bag of ice, a can of beer and a twix bar. And on the way I stupidly tear up. For months signs tell me I'm getting married, the one thing I want. The signs keep saying the day is getting nearer and nearer, and it is! I get to pretend to be, in metaphor, a princess. That wedding is mine, the same as God trying to tell me he wants to snuggle by having two people snuggle and kiss NEXT to me, that snuggling is intended for me to enjoy in metaphor. Thanks God! So the wedding is the same, the one thing I want in the world is to belong to one person, to be joined to him, not lost searching, wandering, wondering, living through metaphor. And so, it;s as though, the cosmos throw me a ginormous wedding. I even hear whispers in my half sleep of the honeymoon in a remote location, probably Kate talking to her ladys or whatever, but never for real for me. It;s the curse of this sign thing, it's never real.

On the way home from the corner market I take solace that Kate and William can;t hop on their beach cruiser and go by a beer and a candy bar. It makes me feel a little better. I suppose I end up sounding bitter, but it;s hard to put into words what living through metaphor is like. It;s a little like hell during big events like this. But chin up, gotta work and be great and all that. Bleh.

Comments

I think I'm part thug, though. I smile and nod and get happy glances from troublemakers in East LA all the time, no biggie. I just want to smell the air and look at the details of the buildings and read the street signs and go into the bars and whatnot. :o
 

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CrystalGeezer
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