Been thinking a lot about what gets carried around under the carapace, and what gets jettisoned along the way. I like the idea of having a hard shell, and softness inside. I like the idea of connecting to the Kafkaesque horror of knowing that one good impact, and it's all over. And that there is no hope of belonging or turning back the clock to where it was all normal.

Those pivot points fascinate me. The minute tipping points between before and after. And they are always to be relived. Not often jettisoned. So they go in the book, under the shell.

Joining those moments, I'm pretty sure, are faces. The faces that you get to see when someone really trusts you and lets you in. And if that ended, those are the faces that haunt you. If you aren't lucky, that is. I am not lucky. I see those faces. And I know that I can't ever go back. Mostly I don't want to. Ever. But some times, that certainty seems a tad precarious. Because I am human. Like that needed to be said.

Another thing to carry around, at least for a while are the arguments that can't be relived and won. I hate those almost most of all. Because while I can think on my feet pretty well, and rarely resort to stuttering rage, there are times when I think of the perfect thing much later. And really wish I could rewind the tape and deliver the appropriate coup de grace. So those voices, all internal, clutter up the landscape. Like a minefield. And when they get tripped, reliving those moments is obligatory.

Other ghosts are more benign. They are built on happiness, and have a tinge of nostalgia mixed with sadness. Because those moments and people aren't ever coming back. They just can't. Those are probably the most pernicious and dangerous ones for me. Because while they lack the recriminating quality of the others, they could easily lull me onto the shoals. And there I will be. Stranded with a broken back, belly to the sun, cracked shell, waiting for the end. All the while tasting the memories. And wishing that they never became memories at all- but had remained static. That's pure evil on a half shell, if you ask me. Because I can wallow there all day long. I can get very angry and wrapped up in the resentment that life forced change. I can look with appraising eyes at the philosophy that life is pain, and understand what it's all about on that level. But I want to go back. Still.

And then the reality of it all hits, and it's time to get up and move forward. With a bright shiny piece of sparkly glass in my hand to provide illumination and luck. With a bright funny smart boy at my side to provide strength. With the knowledge that there are no other options filling my heart to provide me with the shield.

So to hell with ghosts for today. Tomorrow is something else entirely. But today. That's enough.