hollow man

so much drama these past few days. forces perspective, shifts the other sectors of life into a ridiculous frivolity. burying the reaction underneath the surface of the skin, stay cool kid, don't show your hand. [meanwhile face burns red, ears blazin' white beyond red]

i can't get this thought out of my head; how can this be what life is?

i'm not really that naive though, only on occasion anymore. i wonder where the family from alabama is right now. they were in here yesterday. the daughter having a complete mental break with reality. scared-fear-of-death deep in the waybacks of her eyes -- clear, unmistakeable. and what do i say to her? what is my role? she's crying, wants to live, wants to live right, shaking, quaking, mother-in-law lost in a lack of words to say. you are still h-u-m-a-n. yes, even if you really are dying. a hand on the shoulder, eye-contact, reassurance. these are the most valuable vouchers i give out here.

then kim v comes in, small children in tow, attitude in tow, slinging the new one around as she yells, lets the problems come flying out of her mouth, as if that's gonna help. [i stopped listening to her a long time ago, and feel bad for it] she smells bad and i can't stop considering that. this time her oldest daughter sits on her left side in the other chair, instead of joining the rest of the kids on the floor. she's answering some of my questions. the girl's eight, maybe. she'll grow up, and then what? what doors are still open for her? what closed? rage in my throat, can't cough to clear it.

i can't help them. it's too late -- i am still uncomfortable being the one who decides that, though.

if today were thanksgiving i'd give thanks for patrick, for emily. for the unwavering support that they are to me. not just one day a year. i'd give thanks for having this job, even though it's making my life shorter. thanks for the roof over my head, the food in my cupboards, the privilege to be able to go to vipassana courses. the cats, the running water, the gas, the electric, the car even if it does break down sometimes, the love of my family, their unwavering belief in me. in what i do. these material things we have, we chastise them so much, but that negativity is just a reflection of our privilege. let us remember, every day, what bounty we have.

the line between who's on what side of this desk is so very thin.