Broken Arrows and Poison Darts

Often times, I find that despite all actions I take against such things happening - every word, every syllable, every action of mine is a lethal poisonous dart. What absolutely sucks about my poisonous darts is that they only seem to affect certain people and I'm not even aware of the fact that they are poisonous. Much like a jellyfish must not know they can sting or a skunk knows not of it's offensive smell.
It's a gift I've been given as a survival technique(?) - or it's just all a part of my charm.
I personally don't care for the odor that permeates off of a skunk, but I appreciate what it's purpose is.
So, while I realize that I am a bearer of things that can be lethal, I try not to aim my darts at anybody. I try aiming for the ground or I'll stand on top of a hill when no one is around and shoot them up into the air. Sometimes I visit the banks of a stream or a river and shoot them into the shallow, rocky water.

Occasionally - just for fun, Bry puts a pea atop his lovely little cranium and I practice my aim. It's a sacrifice he's willing to make. He takes one for the team more often than not. But a girl can't be a dead-eye with every shot, you know. And she's only willing to sacrifice her clydesdale, beefcake husband but so many times.

Once I get going with something, I can't stop. Rav becomes weary from standing in one place too long. He removes the shredded bits of pea from atop that lovely cranium and calls it a day. But I'm still at it. Zinging darts all over the place. Higgeldy-Piggeldy and willy-nilly. I'm not as careful as I usually am and I think that everyone can duck like Rav can or that they can tolerate darts whizzing around their heads. My arm begins to tire, my hand is trembling. And every so often, my aim gets a little screwy and......

WATCH OUT!!!!
Zing.
Gotcha.

Truly it was an accident. I'm not trying to hit you right between the eyes. And I mean that.
I'm not being sarcastic.

You know how I've been struggling to remove the toxic people from my life(it pains me to even bring this post out of the closet where it's been hidden for a bit. But I've had a few near misses with some toxic gases). I'm trying to make the day-to-day a little better for my family and myself. I'm on a path. Nothing is getting in my way. I certainly am not trying to trample anybody along my journey. However, if the worst is what you're looking for, the worst is what you'll get.

All I know is that I'm trying to be the best me.
I'm just trying to matter.
And I cannot do anything to change what has already been decided.

I wish that I had been blessed with the the endearing qualities of a loveable airhead.
I wasn't.

I wish, sometimes, that I didn't feel passion from the tips of my toes to the teeny, tiny broken dead-ends of my hair.
But I do.

I wish that I were blessed with the campfire personality. The one that everyone longs to sit around to feel all warm and good.
I don't have it.

I wish that I could turn off my curiosity, my constant search for knowledge - the thirst for more.
I can't.

I wish that people could see that my open-ness, my willingness to pour myself - my whole self - into whatever is just my way of relating. I wish that my words, my actions, my thoughts were more clearly defined and concise. So that there could be no misunderstandings.
The don't.
They aren't.
But there always is.

In any group there are roles to be fulfilled. The leader. The follower. The winner. The loser. The teacher. The student. The happy. The brooding. The social. The anti-social. The likeable. The unlikeable.
Sometimes there are shades of grey. You don't fit into one specific category. You can be the leader and a loser. You can be social and a student.

My role, apparently, is quite clearly defined.
The accidental lethal poisonous dart archer.

Great. Thanks for that.

If you just embrace the burn, be at one with the sting of it, you may eventually learn to appreciate it's purpose.