The Bees in Sicily

[mallorys_camera]

Ended up tromping yesterday.

Dunno what I was trying to prove or disprove.

It was an incredibly gorgeous day. That was part of it.

The other part of it is that I can never figure out what’s really going on inside myself: I have excellent intuition when it comes to sussing out other people’s motivations and/or emotions, but I’m a stealth missile when it comes to my own.

I’m told this is fairly common among the offspring of people with borderline personality disorder: You become hypervigilant in terms of other people and the potential danger they represent, but you camouflage yourself so you don’t become a target.

Am I really sick?

Or just incorrigibly lazy?

I honestly don’t know.



Anyway, the tromp was gorgeous, but I didn’t really have the stamina for it. I made it the full five miles, but I had to take rests.

I did see this person. Who made me laugh:



But the world really seems so sucky these days.

Not on a personal level, I must hasten to add. No, I continue to live a charmed life—though it’s clear that major changes are coming down the pike and that I need to start planning for them.

For right now, though, my little life is pretty much a gift.

But all around me, I see people in deep irremediable pain. Or I read about people in deep irremediable pain. Like I read a story this morning about an Italian beekeeper whose hives were all destroyed by the Sicilian wildfires.

And I couldn’t stop crying for half an hour.

Like that’s really gonna help solve anything.

Comments

[halfmoon_mollie1]

My mother used to ask me that question when I cried. It makes your eyes red (and in my case my nose as well) and stuffs you up, but..well, I understand. And at least you found someone to make you laugh.

[mallorys_camera]

With respect, everything you write about yr mother convinces me I wouldn't get along with her at all. 😀

[halfmoon_mollie1]

Understood.

[wayfaringwordhack]

I am not the offspring of people with borderline personality disorder, but I do know exactly what you mean about reading others and camouflaging yourself. Oh yes'm I know. So then I ask myself the same questions, which boil down to: What is wrong with me? Which in turn begs: And what can I do about it? Will I actually DO the thing if I find out? (I was frequently told I was lazy because I had a different body rhythm than everyone else--stayed up half the night so slept half the morning).

We need things that make us smile. Every day. Several times a day. I was going to write "all day," but that felt impossibly ambitious.

[mallorys_camera]

Wouldn't it be wonderful, though, if the default was smiling all day? 😀

[asakiyume]

But not everything is about utility! I totally get crying for that guy's poor bees, and for the poor guy himself! IT'S WORTH MOURNING AND GRIEVING, YO! The news and your empathy make him part of your village, and we grieve for people we know and care about. Which you do, thanks to that story.

That guy on the bike with his dog is awesome.

[mallorys_camera]

Yeah, I loved that guy on his bike!