I have been wounded – not mortally – but wounded. A mortal wound would result in death, rather immediately. I shall survive. The instrumentality of my wound is a capricious man, the word came to me upon awakening. It must be defined. Capricious; fickle, inconstant, changeable, variable, unstable, mercurial, volatile, erratic, vacillating, irregular, inconsistent, fitful, arbitrary; impulsive, temperamental, wild, ungovernable; whimsical, fanciful, flighty, wayward, quirky, faddish, freakish; unpredictable, random, chance, haphazard. ANTONYMS stable, consistent.
All of those things, each and every one. It will never change and it is impossible for me to deal with – well anyone to deal with. I do know why he is capricious – in his relationship with me, But it will never make any difference because certain things can never be repaired. I am nauseous – love that word as well. It means sick, queasy, bilious, sick to one’s stomach, green, green about/at the gills, ill, unwell, bad; seasick, carsick, airsick, travel-sick; informal about to throw up; North American informal barfy. I felt barfy on the way to meet him the other day which seemed most unusual. The feeling passed without damaging the taxi or my clothing but it was intense. It is not that intense at this moment but it is difficult to concentrate.
Yesterday was an exceptional day. A trip to Steveston, an amazing place in its quaintness, its peace, its old fashioned charm. The Gulf of Georgia Cannery was incredibly fascinating with Andrea proving such knowledge and guidance. Tracey and I utterly enjoyed it and photographs will be attached to this blog showing some fun experiences. An amazing lunch at the Blue Canoe – the risotto and salmon (with no vegetables, thank you). The waitress was funny and fabulous. I had a bite of Tracey and Mike’s fish and chips and it was the best ever tasted. A great chat with the chef who was pleased with my lavish praise. The drive was eventful, joking and laughing at the awful drivers but safe navigation resulted in no accidents.
I suppose I could imagine myself living in Steveston but it will not come to pass, for many reasons. An impossible dream – that song comes to mind and found it by googling. But I cannot – I am too scarred. I am not up for the battle.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest, to follow that star
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march
Into hell for a heavenly cause
And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lay peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To fight the unbeatable foe
To reach the unreachable star.
Well perhaps one man can attempt to reach the unreachable star, but this woman cannot.
