Did You Get a Good Lawyer?

After the vagaries of last winter, spring arrived with a burst.

All of a sudden, cherry blossoms exploded.  

Literally one day they were not there and the next, BAM.

Lovely, everywhere you looked.

This year, it is different.  

Cherry blossom buds are creeping slowly open.  

Like they are tentative.  The skies clear intermittently, with storms on all fronts, everywhere you look.  I want to encourage them, tell them it is okay.

It is okay.  Nobody's going to Scotland.  Everyone still hates their job.  It is okay.

The cycle of hope has been extinguished.  There is nothing to shout about, anyhow.

Big fight with the cats today.  And even in this, I'm resigned.  They'll get it.

Everyone will just get over whatever it is they need to get over, anyhow.

Funny how the world works.

How the world plays.

I'm cleaning.  Reorganizing.  I am GAINING ACCEPTANCE with those things I cannot change.  And you know what?  That isn't much.  There isn't much I can't choose to change.  Myself.  My life.  What I want.

You can get to a point where you care too much.

Then you work yourself to death, exhausting all your possibilities, and STILL no one rewards you for it.  And then you decide one day, after bad things happen and rude things happen and inconsiderate things happen, and some unavoidable things happen, but you might still sit on your front porch one day and think, "I am the person that no one feels the need to say SORRY to."

And I'm out there, but what is the best way to say to someone,

"I'm the best goddamn thing that's ever walked in your door.  You've never met anyone quite like me before, and you aren't likely to again."

"You should absolutely hire me, because I can do all the things you need done, and then I'll do more.  And then I'll be charming, and I'll be fun, and I'll work harder than anyone you've ever met, and there won't be a single goddamn thing you throw to me that I can't catch."

How do you say that in a half hour interview?

And I write to Santa Fe, and I write to the Bay Area, and I write, write write so that someone picks up the phone and calls me.  And then that someone calls me in for an interview.  And then that someone looks past my natural dork and hires me. 

So.

Listing the house.

He says we're grounded now, but I've never been grounded.  

I don't even know what that means.

I'm always a half-second from flying away.  I'm always a hairsbreath from jumping from the earth just to taste all the potential that might be.

I'm in love and I'm secure and all these changes aren't bothering me.  

For the first time in a long time I am hungry again.  I am positively drunk with all the possibility and I only lie awake at night to make sure that I've effectively covered my back. 

For the first time in a long time, I'm growing up to my full height.  And the people that try to get me down are just noise.  They're all just noise, and none of them will be remembered past the time it takes me to say goodbye.

Quiet now, hush.  

I have things to do.