I like metaphors. 

Okay, I love them very, very, very much. I have an obsession of trying to simplify the chaos in my mind verbally in a way that merges literal objects and my fondness for trying to tell stories. This doesn’t always work.

My Mom and I were talking today about the duality of genetics that I might be fighting internally. I realized where I was going with this chasm of absurdity, but I just could not stop. 

“So imagine Dad hands me a box and you hand me, okay – no. We’re all sitting at a table. Dad gives me a box with his genetic code of restlessness and wanderlust and you slide a box over from your side full of the desire for security. Wait – this is better – in the boxes are bears. Baby bears. So I pull out these bears and they just fight. It’s the baby bear of “The Grass is Greener on the Other Side” and stability bear duking it out on the table.”

I exhaled.

I could feel my Mom furrow her brow over the phone. She slowly and tentatively said, “At least you know… about this…that might make you ahead of the game already.”


10 Responses to Bears

  1. strangerandstranger says:

    I get that feeling from people all the time.

  2. a lee says:

    Only TWO? Wow. You ARE way ahead of the game.

  3. thebutton says:

    Ok, now I’m just stoked that I can read your blog again. I’ve felt conflict like that before though too. Many times and I know I can identify each side by how my parents were.

  4. The Rebuker says:

    It’s probably a moot point, but were these bears real baby bears, stuffed bears, or gummi bears?

  5. a lee says:

    A Limerick for Lacan

    I have a big box full of creatures
    Who carry all manner of features
    I keep it well sealed
    Lest all be revealed
    And the world rebuff its sole keeper

    I’ve counted dozens of these creatures strange
    Too many by far for me to arrange
    On paper it seems
    They’d make a poor team
    After all they’re fractured, crazy, deranged

    Most of them are kind but others are not
    A few are courageous but many fear-fraught
    The poor battle-worn
    The anxiety-torn
    From whence they came I have never been taught

    Some of them handsomely masculine sure
    A few feminine and dainty demure
    But most all a fiddle
    Gathered right in the middle
    Cry that a gender is never quite pure

    Some saints some sinners, saviors and slayers
    Losers and winners, faithful and players
    The strong and the weak
    The proud and the meek
    And a bastard or two claiming no cares

    Some creatures are chaste and some quite slutty
    Inspired perhaps or just wholly nutty
    They see few clues
    As to what might be true
    So they wallow in grey matter muddy

    They’d make a grand case these creatures of mine
    For Freud or Lacan or similar mind
    Enjoying our slouch
    We’d sit on a couch
    Daring a whole soul Sir Doctor to find

    What of these creatures I just cannot say
    Someday oh to simply shoo them away
    But what use are good locks
    For a big empty box
    So me thinks I’ll enjoin them to stay

  6. firewings says:

    Wow! Did you write this? This is crazy awesome!

  7. a lee says:

    Yes *looks over shoulder cautiously* i did. Thanks. We all decided we didn’t want you to worry about a couple of little bears duking it out.

  8. firewings says:

    The baby bears and I thank you. ^_^

  9. Lisa says:

    “I have an obsession of trying to simplify the chaos in my mind verbally…”

    I LOVE THIS!!!

    Your unique voice and style never cease to amaze me!



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: