'You just want to jump her bones.'
My parents hadn't threatened me with hell-fire on the matter of what animal instinct can lead us to think is a no-brainer, when we find that reaching out to a shirt button, for example, not only presents us with the decision as to whether to start from the top or the bottom, but also with the decision as to the whether to start at all.
If we come to regret doing the right thing because decency prohibits us from telling those who would respect us, and scorn awaits us from the other side, we might well find our lives taking a decided turn from the one we had thought we might reasonably expect.
People talk of forms of frustration; I began to suspect certain adjectives are applied to this condition because the user knows about a clenched fist or an open hand that can effectively deal with senseless provocation.
The word provoke went through a short, sharp metamorphosis, shortly after I received the words in the introduction.
Not from a harpy, but that word began to call out to me from the void of my vocabulary.
In fact, I was led into a maze with no exit; so it seems the only thing I can do is recall everything that I had deliberately forgotten, and then try to forget it again.
Trying to figure out what kind of creature you are without reference to the past is a dicey game: that people think that this is the most important thing we aught to be spending our time and research activities on, is a depressing thought for those who fall into a fire called Reason, and know instinctively that the research is being made by people using matchsticks called logic.
"He who hesitates is lost."
This is a saying I recall from a church pamphlet, long before I came to think that children playing kissing games at school where playing with matchsticks (without chemicals), but about the time that I was made to feel left out of those games.
It's certainly hesitation if you can't make up your mind about which button to start with; but I'm alright, jack. I was very much not ready to be a father. It is with concern for another that I write this.
It may so be that people are told they're behaving like harpies who are expected to be happy with a kind of telepathic marriage, which means the husband loses all credibility, and gets kicked with the word thoughtful, not to mention what he's suggested to do with the word romantic, and all his friends tell him they know exactly how he feels, and the wife isn't allowed to cry alone, so she gets diagnosed with all the psychological conditions in the book, and then ends up behaving like a tramp to console herself, which would then put her at odds with her mother-in-law in terms of reward for good behaviour.
But why are we looking at our parents if we're seeing ourselves as creatures disconnected from the past?