Reading harold_maude's journal

I watch the dust dance in the afternoon sun via the shafts of light that slip through spaces in the curtians...

I watch as his eyes close in a drunken haze...the last beer half drunk and in immenant danger of becoming a spur of the moment bath....the chair will smell of stale beer for weeks after.

I watch as she looks across the smoky room into willing eyes and feel a twinge of anxiety as I wonder what it's doing to you.

I smell fresh cut grass and a flood of spring engulfs my mind.

I watch his eyes as I hear half a conversation, the other half off somewhere in the city, and see a mixture of emotion as he disgusses something just out of earshot.

I see a pale tear fall from eyes that read some sad tale that tears at something long past.
The reader sits in a semi lit room alone with the smell and feel of old skin, a bath is somewhere in the adjenda, but since this is one of his days off, not needing to be clean and pressed gives him the freedom to be just as he is, and he has the freedom in this space to tell the world to go take a hike.
That will all change when he has to work again.

I see a new mother, baby held to her breast, watching the young life take from her, and tears of amazement welling up because she had no idea when the doctor first told her she was going to be a mother that she could feel this way about another person.

I see a new father, standing over his child, pride in his eyes, and the rush of protectiveness and love consume him. He will do anything to keep his young one safe.

I see a belagered woman walking down the grocery isle while jr. is screaming and pleading for this or that. She is annoyed but does nothing until the headache grows so loud that she gets in jr's face and goes through the familiar threats with no subsance one more time...jr. knows this is part of the routine of wearing her down and jr. also knows he will win.

I see the little girl, 8 or 9 maybe, her face painted like a street walker and her clothes complete the ensamble. Her mother thinks it's "adorable how adult she looks" and then wonders why her daughter rebells when she turns 13.

I see the angry young man raging at the world, bored to tears because there is nothing to do. All his gagets and toys are last years entertainment and so he plugs in the head phones to drown out his mothers voice telling him that he needs to mow the lawn.

I see the young college student, alone in his dorm room, poping caffeen pills so that he can stay awake to cram for his finals.
He has trouble concentrating as he sits staring at the test and wonders why he can't remember anything.

I see the doctor telling a wife that she has just lost her husband to a drunk driver.
This is not the first time the driver hit someone while drinking.
The driver will not face much jail time, he is a public offical and can pay for the high priced lawyer to get him a reduced sentance.

I look in the mirror and see me. I don't look long. I see age and weariness in the eyes that look back, and I see thoughts and concerns and no way to fix them. I see shades of my mother there and wish I didn't look like me....
turn off the bathroom light and try to forget everything...
but I can't.

It only looks that way because your standing on your head.