Monday, March 21, 2011

Dangerous Love Affair

Ohh first blog!  What to write?  I want to give insight into who I am, what this blog will be about.  I want it to be a truthful representation of me.  I want people to actually read it!  But considering no one is currently "following" me, I suppose I'll have to settle for just getting my thoughts out of croweded, disorganized space known as my brain.  Like the kitchen of your new apartment, stacked tall with carboard boxes, I hope to create order from chaos, by carefully unpacking each thought and giving it a home. 

The situation is thus, I'm at a a crossroad of what to do with my life.  I have been working diligently to be a scientist for a few years now, but I'm not so sure I should be.  The reasons are extensive, personal, and won't be shared just yet.  I also love medical science.  As a child, I wanted to be a doctor, but circumstances, or rather poor choices on my part, led me away from this.  The passion for medical work is still strong within me though. 

And then, there's dessert.  Oh decedant dessert.  Layers of moist, delicate chocolate cake sandwiched between melt-in-your-mouth dark chocolate mousse, and topped with rich, sinful ganache.  How can you NOT LOVE that?  Unless you are a chocolate hater and then there is always buttery sugar cookies in cute little spring shapes.  It's art.  All dessert is edible art.  Love that!  I think the paragraphs below best describe my personal battle.

I’m torn between two loves.  A dangerous love affair.  I know the sensible thing to do is ignore the hunger of the starving wolf, but clearly, as is evidenced by the soaking ink on this sheet, the animal within will not die easily.  I put on my coat, my gloves and proceed with sensible things.  Reliable science.  Step by step instructions.  Ideas already formed into facts, not freely changed.   I caged the wolf.  I locked him away in my head and he lied there, quiet, for years almost.  As most loyal pets, he did not want to displease his owner.  So he never scratched at the door and he rarely begged for food.  I suppose in hindsight, I should have killed him.  It would, in fact, be the humane thing to do.  Put him to sleep.  So he would feel no pain and I would feel no more guilt of neglect.  But I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  I was more selfish than I care to admit. 

Now look.  That moonstruck beast has managed to claw his way out of those bars.  Left cornered by a hunger-crazed creature that was liable to tear my heart out, I did the only thing any one could do, so I thought.  I fed it ‘til he could eat no more.  Terrible, terrible choice.  Anyone who’s known a deranged ex will tell you that.  Regretfully, once you feed those strays they keep coming back for more.  Now, I’m finding my self between two loves.  Two lovers.  I feel completely divided, incapable of choosing either.  To leave the warmth and comfort of this one is to go to uncertainty and passion in the other.  Truthfully, neither is anchored, which is quite typical of me.  At any moment either love could catch the wind and set sail to the hazy, red tinged horizon or the ominous, brooding clouds of steel. 

Sensibility versus a wolf seems hardly a fight at all.  It’s a mammal versus a loaded gun.   A round of lead pumped into a dog surely exterminates life.  Supposing, that is, you actually loaded the gun, that you aimed precisely, and that you have the brazenness to pull the trigger on love.  Who out there with a soul and with the Lord as their shepherd can say they are willing to kill anything, particularly love?

So I stand in a labyrinth, completely torn about which way to turn.  I pray that God tells me the direction to take, but I hear nothing but whispers in the wind that cannot be made out.  All the while I stand, for years even, rivers of tears down my face, taking two steps to the right and four steps to the left, back and forth.  I never thought I’d be that girl.  The girl who left the one to pine after the other, a girl whose appetite cannot be satiated.  All because I’m torn between two loves--caught either way, in a dangerous love affair.

Suffice it to say, I'm lost, and searching for dessert.

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