A Great Shame

A week or so ago I passed a car that was stuck in the middle of the road.

I knew I should stop and help. I saw someone I know stop and help and rather than tell myself the story that "Oh, they have this" I knew that I should pull over, get out of my car and help.

I knew it. I knew at the time this was going to haunt me, I knew driving away that I was diminished a little by my failure to get out of the car and help.

I hate that feeling and I really do not want to continue to have it. I want to not miss another opportunity to get my hands dirty.

I got to work on time.

And I'm ashamed of that. 

Prepare yourself for the thing that made me cry today.

Everyday there are many, many things that seem to cause my face to leak in a strange, unhelpful way which always feels to me that I am somehow losing something. That I am somehow letting something important run carelessly down my face.

Yet I never run out - but this is a miracle for another day entirely.

This morning I was reading a treatise regarding Rebecca Solnit's treatise regarding love and I came upon a link to a paean to Frida Kahlo's fierce brand of love.

I found this terror and beauty in Ms. Kahlo's description of her husband:

"I warn you that in this picture I am painting of Diego there will be colors which even I am not fully acquainted with. Besides, I love Diego so much I cannot be an objective speculator of him or his life… I cannot speak of Diego as my husband because that term, when applied to him, is an absurdity. He never has been, nor will he ever be, anybody’s husband. I also cannot speak of him as my lover because to me, he transcends by far the domain of sex. And if I attempt to speak of him purely, as a soul, I shall only end up by painting my own emotions. Yet considering these obstacles of sentiment, I shall try to sketch his image to the best of my ability."

and I leaked more than a little.