For some reason I still don't feel that lying around the house crying sadness. But rather, a very intense painful and boiling rage; a looking forward to biting the head off of anyone who crosses my path kind of rage. Looking forward to it. Welcoming disagreement for a chance to take a swing or burst another into the kind of tears I should be shedding by now. Normally the gentle gregarious and oh so very social Ambassador. Now I seethe. Ready to pounce. This event has brought out the worst in me. Someone I know well, but have not seen in many years. When I was a boy, we knew each other very well. Best friends. Brothers in arms. We used to fight every chance we got. I tore the faces off of every kid I had the chance to with my fists back in school. I was the king of cynicism, vandalism, self destruction, and tearing people down. A rebel with many causes. The angry young man, but not the Billy Joel type (who the hell sings high soaring melodies when truly angry?), but more of the Clash, Sex Pistols, Iggy and the Stooges type. Decades have passed since those fiery days and that aspect of self had seemed to pass along with them. Or so I thought. Every now and then, he returns.
And so once again he is here. I am. So he is. So I am. United once again. Breathing and seething together as one. We need each other now. During moments like this. For sometimes life is wicked and cruel. Slaps us down like the pathetically arrogant while still unknowingly ignorant tree climbing bug eating home destroying parasites we are. Such is life for the lost baggage that we truly are. Left to live or die, fend for ourselves, suffer, groan, cry, scream, kill or be killed. Left for dead on a giant rock that floats in the middle of nowhere in what appears to be empty space. When I contemplate our fate, I welcome my new-found old friend.
Princess Little Tree falls into a puddle of tears, face soaking wet, sobbing, a few times every hour. But I don't. I am a desert. I am a weed-covered hauntingly deserted wall of no emotion. Red brick turned black from soot. Angry acerbic biting vicious cutthroat and cynical. Waiting to pounce. Hence I write. There is not much more I can do. Yesterday I was walking down the sidewalk with both shoulders held wide and broad to protect the pregnant Princess from all the thousands of people we share the city with; she who was holding my hand and walking just behind me. She who was holding our two newest members of our family in her beautiful little belly. Today there is no need for this protection we are told. It is a sudden shocking realization. Just like that. In simple terms, we are no longer pregnant. Some people call it miscarriage. Though this early on.... who knows what to call it. What I do know is that I have a printout of a microscopic photograph of our two precious twin embryos and they were living inside of her perfect body. Now they are not. She has not miscarried yet. In typical fashion. No blood. No pain. Just no more HCG, the hormone which indicates pregnancy.
