Feed My Lambs

I like how we help each other along just by being.

 

Last night, a young male blogger who also works for the library system was at my branch for a farewell send-off. He told me that he really hasn't been reading my blog... in part due to some issues with our dearly beloved server AOL.  He wants me to post in my LiveJournal.  AOL is just the one that flows for me, the one that gets me responses from people that I am coming to know.  Although it's true that Joe, this fella, and Josh, the youngster who inspired me to start blogging are locals... they are also young men in their 20s.  I am actually old enough to be their mother.  What business do we have with each other?  Why would a young man want to chill with an aging lesbian who lives at the poverty level?  Huh? 

 

It's nice that they think I'm cool enough to read my blog.  At the same time, it's kind of worrisome.  For all I know, having come out to these young men via my journal may be a big part of the reason I cannot seem to move up in the library system.  Loose lips sink ships.

 

I was denied an interview after applying for a regular full-time position with the library system.  Having work their almost four years, I was told that I did not have enough training.  Draw your own conclusions and just know that the person who did that to me absolutely won a negative view in my eyes.  What a crock of bull!

 

But I didn't mean to go off on that neurotic and bitter tangent.  I was talking about how we help each other get along.  I sometimes correspond with someone on-line with whom I relate well,  I think she appreciates that my being gay means I don't have to ask questions she doesn't particularly care to answer when we do talk.

 

I was just reminded of a friend in college who had "Feed My Lambs" on her wall.  She told me that we are all each other's hosts and each other's guests.  It's funny how much more I learned being at college than I did from going to college.

 

One of the other great statements of that time was from Ivan Guarino, one of a mob of "deadheads" who moved to school together.  He said, "We are all the same."  When I tried to protest, he shook his head at me.  It's true, as odd as it seems. We all bleed, we all fart and we all need food, shelter and belongingness.  Some of us are over-sensitive and some of us are unconscionably sociopathic, but we are all the same.

 

It's funny.  I occasionally correspond with another blogger and our correspondence serves to enrich us both it seems. You gotta love that.  It's a new kind of relationship for me.  I have written since elementary school, but to know that someone is actually affected by and responds to what I say... well, that's a trip.

 

I see my future before me.  It doesn't look too promising. I can see having nothing making my old age really suck.  However I will have lived a life that amused me some.  I will have given something out that people can use and some part of me will trickle forth into the future though no one will know that it started with me.  That doesn't matter. 

 

Names are just vanity.  In the overall scheme of things, we are just a pool of writhing life with output, some of which is beauty, some of which is waste and the rest of which is more writhing life.  Maybe all of it is vanity.

 

Composed @ 4:30 a.m.