metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Painted Dreams When I moved to Georgia, ten years ago, I looked forward to a new start, a new day, a new me. What has become of those dreams, those hopes for my future? They have revealed themselves as an old truth. Like a shiny coat of paint on an old chair, the paint is now flaking off my dreams and fading to show it was just an illusion. The original chair exists still, in all it�s glory. It looked different somehow with the paint, like an entirely different piece of furniture - a different reality, but it is the same. It�s intrinsic truth shining through the camouflage, blinding me with memories of how things once were. And so, I deny. Things really are different now - there is conversation, there is communication. We have accomplished so much. We own our home. We have horses. It is peaceful here. We are not making as much money, but the pace is slower, calmer. If pressed, I would have to say my quality of life is much better. I did gain 20 pounds since I moved here. What is that? 2 pounds a year�. I would love to stay on budget. I would love to stay on a diet. We are just not good for each other when it comes to supporting each other to stay on either. If K wants a Jeep, we get it; if I want ice cream, we get it; on and on until - what? I don�t know. We explode? I have been wondering why I write this. Is it good for me? Do I feel better because of it? I don�t really know. It is sometimes not fun to write. It is sometimes hard to write. I have come to the conclusion that I write because I am compelled to do so. I don�t write because I want to, I write because I must. There is some internal imperative urging me on. And so, I write. I live in a small town in Georgia. It is very different from Los Angeles, where I was born and spent the first 40 years of my life. The atmosphere is different here. I would characterize it as provincial. There is a lot of prejudice here, still. It is nurtured and rewarded. There is a certain caste system in the society as well. Many big fish live in this small pond. I, of course, am not impressed, so that is strike one. The Southern White Male With Money attitude is rampant, and is as pitiful as it is repugnant. I am really on a downer today. Catch me on the up-side. 4:14 p.m. - 2003-06-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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