I Stand Here Face to Face

I'm one of them, sure I might try to deny it, but I simply am. As far as I can tell we all seem to be. Everyone want's to think that they've got it figured out, at least a hint of it. However, I wonder if we really ever can have it in such an easy way.

There are the promptings given that we can usually be sure things are right, but then there is the hopeless romantic inside. We pass a sign, there happens to be subjects of a conversation, happenstances of a dream, that reminds us of someone or something and we start to work our interpratations of what will be in our future.

For a long time I thought I had my future pretty well figured out. Go to school, get my masters, if I do well maybe I'll leap on to a doctorate, then I spend the rest of my life studying life and maintaining existance. But then it occures to me, maybe I can't handle it, or maybe not so much of "can't" as just "don't want to".

Now the picture that I've drawn since being a child is changing. Lines that had been drawn are being erased, and not little by little, whoever is doing it holds one of those great big pink erasers that you can just run over the whole page with a few intense strokes. It is at least a little comforting to know that there is still a lot of led left in the pencil and here and there it's managed to keep a bit of the same peice of art that was the me to be, yet as I'm learning it's all tentative and that it's actually myself holding both the pencil and the eraser . . . maybe I need to use my knees to hold the paper in place so that I stop erasing the wrong parts and connecting different lines . . .