On the ride into work this morning I let myself be lost in the foggy mist and enjoyed the last of the snow from this past weekend. It will no doubt be gone soon, soaked into the ground as if it never existed. Snow for me has always held a deeper meaning. I am happiest when it snows, yet I couldn't begin to explain why. So I looked out the window, imagining romantic characters striding across the pure white expanses, and just breathed in the beauty. Snow wraps around the seemingly dead landscape, and whispers promises of rebirth and renewal as it gently cradles the world in its soft, white blanket.
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
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