My life is full of many interesting things, like cobwebs forming odd shapes, the contemplation of death while eating ice cream, disappearing socks, and of course, cats. It turns out, cats do not like to be walked. They are independent and willful. I hate that in them, but more so, in humans.
Taking some time to examine my own behavior, which I so rarely do, I have come to the conclusion that I am unjustifiably abusive toward my sister. There was a time, perhaps early in her addiction, when Juliet took every opportunity she could, to hurdle insults in my direction. It is almost as if she lived to offend me, and watch me suffer. While she continues to injure me often, it is no longer a daily occurrence. Even if it were, I do not want my behavior to depend on anyone else’s, or to be purely reactionary. It has always been that I want to walk, not crawl. No matter how those around me choose to behave, my own actions must be in accordance with my morals.
Tonight, when I asked Juliet to waitress with me at the restaurant, I was short with her. I see now, that she really tried to be helpful. Perhaps, it is that in her addiction, she reminds me of my father. In the way I treat her, I remind myself of my father.
After we got off work, she asked if we could drop by her friend Virginia’s house, to pick her up. I agreed, and we were left waiting outside for time eternal. My wrath was unleashed, not on her friend, but on Juliet, who was not at fault.
In the end, it could never matter what Juliet did or does, and that goes for everyone else, because my knife is sharper. I cut anything that moves. This is not something I am proud of.
The still heart, therein lies the truth. I am constantly trying to talk over my thoughts and feelings, so that my voice changes often. It adopts accents from foreign lands, and booms over anything that would interrupt it.