At home in this apartment, most of us, the dear inhabitants, have taken to each other in such a familial way that we do in fact refer to ourselves as a família. We are seven in the house, and this is the case with the exception of one who we believe will not remain much longer here by preference. Each of us has someone in particular in the house with whom we get along and interact most frequently, and we all convene at times in a way that doesn't allow for any stone to go unturned or any problem fester longer than is absolutely necessary. If one person has excellent news or something happened, the rest of us will quickly find out, and the same is true of bad news. It's a nice way to live, a way of appreciating the smaller details of things from day to day.
All the better, then, that I was encircled in a web of loving safeguard when, quite suddenly after having dinner at a restaurant on the same block as ours, I received notice of a purported text message breakup from someone who openly professes disdain for text messages and is recalcitrant about conversations by such a medium, among other things. The ensuing implosion of mental stability was predictable, but the immediate response from a família worked remedially. That the wine we had to wash it all down was of decent quality helped too. It follows, then, that life seems to have become a little bit like a telenovela in that regard, one week things going terribly and seemingly into an abyss and the next all being well and good, if perhaps a bit too much so.
It appears that there is something about the changing of the seasons, at least biennially, has the effect of throwing off-kilter even the seemingly best of relationships, the most stable, the closest of bonds. Fall comes and toxins seep into the cracks of what had once seemed like glorious destiny, until my obsessiveness and tendency to open up cans of worms at every small opportunity given suffocates the bad as well as the good out of everything by the time spring rolls around. I either have the nerve to say nothing or open my mouth and let the words spew out with no rhyme or reason ad nauseam. Communication becomes erratic and the problems more profound than the language and referents used to express them. It does not fail. So it is that this time, hopefully, after an unproductive video conversation and the resolve to breathe and become collected again, all will not result in terminal cessation as is the conclusion to most such affairs as they have happened for me. I would like to learn to mend instead of amputate, and I wonder whether it can or will happen. In the meantime, I have photos to take and pastries to eat.
All the better, then, that I was encircled in a web of loving safeguard when, quite suddenly after having dinner at a restaurant on the same block as ours, I received notice of a purported text message breakup from someone who openly professes disdain for text messages and is recalcitrant about conversations by such a medium, among other things. The ensuing implosion of mental stability was predictable, but the immediate response from a família worked remedially. That the wine we had to wash it all down was of decent quality helped too. It follows, then, that life seems to have become a little bit like a telenovela in that regard, one week things going terribly and seemingly into an abyss and the next all being well and good, if perhaps a bit too much so.
It appears that there is something about the changing of the seasons, at least biennially, has the effect of throwing off-kilter even the seemingly best of relationships, the most stable, the closest of bonds. Fall comes and toxins seep into the cracks of what had once seemed like glorious destiny, until my obsessiveness and tendency to open up cans of worms at every small opportunity given suffocates the bad as well as the good out of everything by the time spring rolls around. I either have the nerve to say nothing or open my mouth and let the words spew out with no rhyme or reason ad nauseam. Communication becomes erratic and the problems more profound than the language and referents used to express them. It does not fail. So it is that this time, hopefully, after an unproductive video conversation and the resolve to breathe and become collected again, all will not result in terminal cessation as is the conclusion to most such affairs as they have happened for me. I would like to learn to mend instead of amputate, and I wonder whether it can or will happen. In the meantime, I have photos to take and pastries to eat.
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