What Is Real

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.
But the Skin Horse only smiled.

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New Years Resolution….Of Sorts

Well, I promised myself, and a few random others (as though anyones out there, Dear reader?) that I would try to blog more, to write more. Its helped in the past, it helps me get some things out, it gives me a place to talk about things that I just can’t talk to anyone else about. Why is it the way I understand things-the way they make sense to me-and should make sense to anyone and everyone else-Don’t?

They just don’t?

I believe in simple kindness. Truth. Love. Friendships and relationships that last the test of time and can wether a few storms. In not holding a grudge or reliving the past. Knowing when enough is enough.

Call me simple. Call me old fashioned. Call me country, niave, or even stupid. But this is the way I have managed to get through my life. Somewhere along the way though everything changed around me. That used to be enough for everyone, for people, for some people. Its just good honest human values and simple common sense, right? I dont understand why that cant be enough. I just dont get it.

I guess now my worry should be that I have passed these things on to my children. I never taught them to be mean to others. To not care when someone needs them. To disregard the feelings of others in favor of what they want. To kick and trample others to get to the top. I never learned that. My “mean and shitty” gene is messed up in my DNA.

I’ve said it before, I’m just a worm. Everyone kicks me to the side. I’m the runt of the litter-kinda sickly and in need of a little extra warmth and love. Im that girl who always gets pickked last, but I stand here anyways,like an idiot, awaiting my turn. Happily congratulating all the others who go first. Patting them on the back. Wishing , oh god, just dying inside from wishing, that id be next. But pasting that stupid smile on my ridiculous unwanted face as I get passed up again…and again..only to find out that the teams are uneven. no room for me anywhere…..i’ll just sit here and watch and smile, happy for the opportunity.