Destruction, Role Reversals, and Choices

These are actually examples of things that aren't wrong with the world. These are the things that make life difficult, but ultimately worth living be it for creation of life, appreciation of life, or simply being life.

Part 1

I drove down to Lethbridge this weekend; about a two hour drive. The weather warnings were extreme in the morning, but had diminished by the time I left. None the less, I found cars spun out in the ditch, one car on its roof with an exit trail probably a full 30° from the road (in case you don't think in trajectories, that means it was going over 50% as fast sideways as it was going forward along the road, or exactly 50% of its speed [no vector {direction}] was in a vector perpendicular to the road. tl;dr it went sideways fast), and finally, the worst of them all, I saw a horse trailer on its side. Firetrucks, ambulances, police cruisers, all sorts of emergency crews... two lanes of traffic were forced around onto the shoulder to sneak by directed by no less than 4 traffic coordinators. I couldn't even bear to confirm my suspicions.

But I thought to myself what a terrible thing that man has done. We cage an animal and, due to weather it would otherwise survive, we kill it. Cows, pigs, sheep, chickens... they all die for me to eat and probably eat better than I rightfully should (for I have not cared for nor have I bested these animals). And I suppose logically a horse is no different. It's life should hold no extra value to us than the lives of such a multitude of similar animals. But somehow it stands for something. Horses represent freedom, hopes, dreams, pride and other things that are hard to draw. And we have killed it.

I begin to wonder if I am man and life is nature. Man seeks to control nature. Nature cannot be controlled. And sometimes they collide and horses, dreams, can be killed. Life is happening. Can I control it? Could I not even if I wanted to?

I drive into Lethbridge. Too many cars in front of the house to park. I park down the street. The frozen body of a rabbit lies belly up in the gutter ahead.

She used to point out rabbits in the hills. Now here it is in front of me. Adorable. Dead.

Perhaps another metaphor; stronger than the first. Closer to her, not me. That's what it's about after all.

Part 2

The night plays out; a hilarious mix of people new and old coming and going. Life is happening here. This isn't what I came for, but it's more fun than I thought. This isn't why we come; not the real reason.

And there's the revelation. "We."

I don't know what I thought of girls before they held my affection. I probably saw them as people, only more different people than us boys. But soon they started to stick out. There was always a girl. There was always one that I thought was more than the rest of them. And I built up that philosophy for years. The One. Every girl is special, and, in my case, every new girl must be the One.

I've finally came to realize that in my experience, girls are all the same, just like they say. I was the one who was different. I was the one who cared when no other guy did. I was the guy who brought flowers and went shopping and looked at jewelry and told her that she was beautiful all the time. I was the one who wanted to have kids and simultaneously wanted to do whatever he had to to financially provide for his family (which I wanted while we was still young) and wanted to stay home with the kids so she could pursue her career. I was the one who said, "I'm sorry," when I was wrong. I'm the one who said, "I love you," every chance I could. She told me I was the most amazing guy she had ever met and that we were forever.

I realize that there are some things you just say, sometimes for no other reason than that it sounds nice. But it can't all be bullshit. There must have been something special about me. I stood out. This is exactly doubled by the fact that I have never asked a girl out on a date in my life...oh, wait, no, yes, I did once. I got a "no." However, that being said, there is a far greater number of girls who have made the moves on me. So there has to be something. And it certainly isn't my face, my body, my brains, my wit, or my charm. It's just something.

Then there's this girl. She's got it, too. All girls are the same... except her. She is undoubtedly unlike any girl I have ever known or ever will again. And suddenly I'm just another boy falling at her feet. And it's strange being on the other side of that scenario.

Perhaps I broke my role first. Maybe it's part of the new me. Is that new me really the me I want to be?

Part 1, Side 2

I drive back home the next day.

I left her different this time. No difficult screen doors to open. The wind was colder than usual. I drive away regretting it.

Broken fences, broken rails, broken signs. This weather did a number on things. The sign that told me to exit is half over. Do I look for signs not to exit, or does this mean that the signs will be gone, but the choice still must be made? More questions for later.

The fences are made by man. Some fences are broken by men; others are broken by nature itself. What are these fences? Do they separate us from being together, or do they keep us from being exposed? Man will rebuild these fences. Should I? Nature brought them down.

A train derailed. Me. Another moves backwards. Me, again. Are these the choices of who I can be? I saw no other trains. Perhaps they are simply beyond what I can see.

Part 3

Who am I? Who do I choose to become? Do I remain extraordinary among girls whom are all the same, or do I become ordinary chasing after the one girl like no other?

I am derailed; another version of me. Do I drive backwards? Pick up from a time once passed? Am I then doomed to tread the same ground only to end up in the same place again, and later, the place where I cannot see? Do I press on to the unforeseeable future?

What do these fences, these barriers, mean? What do they mean to me? What do they mean to her? Do I build them up, or watch them burn?

Maybe they represent an inquantitative distance. I seem to hear my own advice.

Leave. Don't come back until the feelings go away. The girls hate it, but it's the only way.

Hope is a funny thing. Sometimes hopelessness can make you feel better.

Did hope die this weekend? I don't know. I couldn't bring myself to look.