Cheshire Cat Grin

I have a close friend whose title of "close" I can almost safely say is comatose and "friend" barely hanging on. Part of it might be the contempt and bitterness towards him that I'm failing to ward of. The other is him.

He doesn't tell me much personal stuff anymore. I can tell he's not content; I still can read him well. There is, however, one small keyhole that allows me to proverbially peer into his otherwise tight space. I snooped (and ironically, stumbled) upon it. Voyeuristic doesn't quite describe my actions. My moral compass wants to point on the label "crime," though it spins between that and "stalker." Other adjectives are welcome.

I wish a simple phone call, visit or chat would re-establish trust and make my detectiving pointless. Sorry, this seems to be the only way I really know what's going on with him. Why? It's complicated. Why is it always complicated? Oh, yeah. *Re-reads beginning paragraph*

I wish I was more ashamed. But knowing that I know what he doesn't want others, probably including me, to know gives me a sick, Cheshire Cat-like grin.

Triangle

She broke your heart.
You sent her to PostSecret.
I am sending myself to a counselor tomorrow because of you.

Remember: Call Your Mama

Rarely do I verbally express the emotional tempests that occasionally (in this case lately) rage inside. I\ have a handful of close friends whom I confide in, but unfortunately my prideful and independent nature wants to muddle through until I'm almost drowning in a glass full of thoughts and feelings. That's when I talk.

Lately I've been sailing the sea of uncertainty and fighting waves of self-doubt, anxiety, mistrust, and pseudo-unemployment. I had already talked to two friends but continued to feel angst with no proverbial land in sight.

That's when I decided to use a never-failing life-saver: I called my mama.

We began with usual chit-chat. Weather, sister's basketball game (she made a shot, yeah!), family. Topics got deeper thereafter- I was not content, had a tendency to over-think (which sometimes had physical side-effects), still held a particular grudge. Unsurprisingly she "prescribed" God, prayer and the Good Book. Inside I groaned but knew she was right. God and I have become acquaintances.

The comforting thing is she listened to my cracking voice and convoluted explanations. She even understood and admitted she sometimes experiences what I go through. And, despite the state I am in, I am still her hijita.

I don't have concrete or easy answers, but at the moment that's OK. I talked to my mama.

And I Will Drive 200,000 Miles...

Today my odometer hit and passed 200,000 miles.

I wished close friends were there to experience my milestone so I pulled over and texted some. Two replies trickled in:

"=) Congrats! Making it home safe?"

"Haha, congrats! That little car is quite the beast."

"Thanks!," I replied to the latter. "It resembles the owner."

No lie. My silverish-blue '95 Toyota Camry has several trips under its timing belt and took some literal beatings (slight dents courtesy my sister). Certain parts need to be replaced but it's still going; besides, the wear and tear give it personality.

I'm not sure where I'll be or when I'll hit another odometer milestone. Either way I'll do my best to have good company and my faithful little car.

Here's to the next 200,000 miles.