So many words lose something in the translation from English to French or the other way around (as I’m sure is the same in any other language). In english, fantasy is this wonderful ideal thing that folks would want to model as the ideal of what they’re thinking: fantasy sports; fantasy girl or guy, etc. But fantaisie as I grew up hearing it and knowing it’s definition as per my family was a game… nothing serious or to be taken seriously. Something light and easy. You almost say it and automatically shrug. I think I like that definition better. It brings you closer to the basis of the word. Whatever it is… no matter how ideal… it’s UNREAL. Not based in fact and a figment of your imagination. That’s my english / french lesson for today.
I’ve become increasingly aware of the things that I do that define me. I never really admit defeat. But rather put two words in place of “I concede” or “you win” or “you got the best of me”. And I use them so freely throughout regular conversation… one would never know. “It’s cool.” My admission of defeat. My escape way from having to face my anger and force field from having to deal with my hurt directly. I discount it completely and back away from it till I can deal. It’s not quite the balling it up and shoving it into a place where it will fester and boil. It’s more of a… put it somewhere on the shelf over there till I can look at it and understand what happened. It’s hard for me to articulate what really hurts through the hurt… and the only thing I want is revenge. It’s so dangerous to talk to me then, because I have a forked tongue. And half the stuff I say… I don’t want to. But the hurt talks. I got caught in that today… and I hope that I haven’t lost a friend. But they called me in to the discussion before I was ready to look at it and had prepared my list of the reasons why something hurt. I guess that hurt hit deep. I usually can put my list together in a day or two. It’s been a minute. *sigh* I’ll have to figure it out.
My baby brother is out of the hospital… of course they didn’t actually diagnose what the hell was wrong with him (cause you know… med. professionals don’t do that anymore). But they sent him home with a pocket full of prescriptions and one of the drugs he’s complaining is throwing him off balance and messing with his concentration. He says he feels crazy. I already know that he is (LMAO)! But I am genuinely worried about him. Again… powerless, though, to do anything.
On the bright side, I got a call from Cary today and it was actually an okay call. No crazy feelings… no eye twitch or butterflies in my stomach. No feeling like he was stalking me or whatever it is I felt before. Just one human being talking to another. I looked in that cauldron where I kept my love for him today and it was finally empty. Not a drop left behind. I don’t know when that happened. But I’m glad that it did.
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