What is it about some people that they can make the most mundane things special? Their enthusiasm for everything big and small is contagious.
When you’re tired and dreading the obligatory trip to the grocery store, they turn it into an adventure. Red peppers, new can openers or dog dishes become works of art. Check-out girls are your new best friends. Life gets better with special people around. You find yourself noticing trees and kids and signs. Colors get brighter, music has more melody, the 6 o’clock news isn’t so bad. A sunset is suddenly the glorious celebration of a wonderful day.
When they leave, it’s like the air went with them. You find yourself trying to mimic their happiness. How do they do it? Is it a question of creating one’s own universe to the exclusion of all else? Is it a state of being. Is it merely a decision to be happy and Voila! happiness prevails?
Does your heart stop breaking when you lose someone you love if you’re one of those people? Do evil and ugliness cease to exist? How can they care so deeply about so much and so many? Are they angels on a mission to show us the endless possibilities for good?
They bring out the absolute best in everyone they meet. They love in spite of all the reasons they should not. They inspire when inspiration is dead. They decorate our lives with a mirror image of all that we can be. They are magical beings hidden within the cloak of human bodies.
I want to be special too, but my Irish temper gets in the way. I don’t like banal conversation. I definitely don’t like coffee clutches or office gossip. I’ve never been a woman’s woman, shopping for hours for clothes I don’t need. I’m impatient and can be bold to the point of insult.
Wanna-be’s make my teeth hurt. Political commentators make me want to throw pudding at the TV. I want to slap men who follow their penises around. Pretty women who marry fat old men for the money and then complain incessantly, make me want to puke. Screaming kids have me conjuing images of putting their whole family in a cage. People who promise to do things and then don’t, make me feel like I’m in a bad movie.
I have to work hard at forgiveness. I yell at assholes with all the windows rolled up in the car. I eat way too much chocolate, and I still love Juan Valdez, the Columbian coffee bean guy. I could go on but you get the point; I’m just not that special.
Perhaps I’m doomed to trudge along this, apparently never-ending, path to enlightenment indefinitely; but then, perhaps I’ll try a little harder to be special in this brand new year of 2012. I’m open for suggestions on the how of it.
In the meantime, when my ghost, Charles Sutton, isn’t speaking his stories right into my mind as I write them; I’ll keeping prattling on about stuff, just for the hell of it. (Adapted from the July/11 post)
My Novels:
THE SORCERER’S CONFESSION 99c
http://amazon.com/dp/B0052MT2W8
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/62266
THE SORCERER’S PROMISE 99c
http://amazon.com/dp/B0058JKS14
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69745
For 99c, you can enter the world of Charles Sutton; sexy ghost, who has been and can be anything he wants, can harm or heal at his sole discretion, and travel anywhere on the planet in a heartbeat. While battling demons from his past, the dark soul that is Sutton reaches for the light.
(c) Susannah Morgan Surgeoner 2011-2012.
