Tizz

Pianos play for pages before some of us like the song of our lives. No matter where you are in your song, it's the first note you feel that tears you apart and makes you thankful to be alive.

It's eleven o'clock and I've been working off and on since seven this morning.  I started working in my room while Juan ran the front desk then I took over in the afternoon.  It's been steadily busy all night.  At first I was surprised, but then I had to remind myself that I've been working on my own.  I remind myself that last year I had a helper and though there was squabbling, there was someone to share the workload.

Keith will be arriving soon and I will retreat back into the space that has become mine here at work; a square bedroom with hard floors and two small alley ways on either side of the bed.  One side is currently lined with dirty clothes that are rapidly piling around the bags of clean, unfolded clothes.  The other side is a parking lane for the boxes removed from the apartment this last Monday. 

I hear my song and it's so beautiful I smile and weep at the same time.  Deft tones resonate.  The vibrations reveal a motherless boy who sees affection as his nemesis.  Those who have been hooked cannot seem to belive beyond this paradigm.  Do they then see me as weak when I touch them with such sincere frailty?  Does my lending to vulnerabilty set in motion a battlefield they must position themselves on to hold ground; save face?  Or do they learn by example...and see that my strength has always been in letting all feelings have value and weight.  A tear clears the eye of debris as much as it can the heart the fallen tree in its path.