seven sisters

I do want to say the wittiest thing ever, and make your head tilt to the side, and think lovely thoughts about me. ‘Oh, Gabs, you’re so clever,’ you’d think. Maybe it would even instigate a thoughtful sigh on your part.

Why? Why do I care so much what you think about what I write, and what I think? Even after a huge caveat that I’m not as funny as the rest, why do I still get caught up in writing something worth reading? I think I keep forgetting all these differences. Why aren’t you entertained by these neurotic ramblings that happen in my mind? Aren’t I supposed to put out into the world the face of confidence and charm? Aw, snap! I missed that one then.

I still grapple with this scared feeling that there will always be an inequality between us. My affections overwhelming all of us --- which brings me back to this horrific fear of coming off as. . . desperate. YEP! I said it. I think I come off as desperate. Desperate for affirmation. Desperate for attention. Yeah, how’s that for charming?!? (the saddest part of this post is that it’s a bloggy form of the dreaded question ‘does this dress make me look fat?’ --- which means there MUST be a phatrillion comments about how fabulous I am, and how I have nothing to fret about, etcetera etcetera. For that, I do apologize. This is more of an expression of mess my brain makes for me.)

All of this brings me to The Pleiades. So much wonderment of my childhood was devoted to the stars. I haven’t really given them much thought lately. Today, in the midst of my psychodrama du jour, I stopped to look outside. The rain. The gorgeous rain -- and think of The Pleiades. Do you think we could take a drive and look at the night sky sometime? I think I need to really see a sky COVERED in stars again. It’s been awhile.