A Difficult Week

The past week was one of the more challenging weeks I've survived in some time.

Very simply, things were not going my way...or more accurately, I was denied what I felt was entitled to me.

I didn't get the job I wanted. The job I've been after for months and a job that I was recruited for for more than a year and a half. What a surprising turn of events.

I was seriously jilted by a man I felt sincere interest in. I hadn't felt that kind of pull towards a member of the opposite sex in such seriousness ever, honestly.

I let my responsibilities slide and checked out. I decided to make a parody of myself by drawing a hot bath, having a glass of wine with some chocolate and cheese and watching Bridget Jones' Diary, the first one. It forced me to move away from genuine disappointment to an unhealthier self-deprecation--the kind that make great fodder for both sitcoms and black comedy.

So enough. Time to force myself to acknowledge, appreciate, and relish the good stuff. Cause, it's so easy to expect the good stuff to stick around always. But the thing is, everything changes, everything's fleeting. So the fact that I still have a home and bed to return to at the end of such grueling days gives me reprieve. And that should not be discounted. So I've mourned already. Now tonight, I rest, and prepare mentally for the week ahead.

This week, I will shed my petulant self and continue my life.

The Sound of His Harmonica

My grandfather was a great harmonica player. As a traditional, stoic man, he kept the best of himself...to himself. When I first heard him play his harmonica, it was both perplexing and heartbreaking. Perplexing because he could not express the best, the worst, the mundane...except vicariously through the vibrating sounds of his harmonica. That soulful sound. I'll never forget. He couldn't share the great joys of his life. Nor his great sorrows. Heartbreaking because I knew I'd never be privy to the richest part of his life.

And I wanted to know what broke his heart. More than what brings great joy and happiness, the things that bend or break a person's heart reveals the makings of their soul.

This venue is my harmonica. Candidly I express under the cloak of anonymity what stirs my heart and makes me human.

This is my search for love in squalor.