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Do That For Me Then, 2005

10-24-98, coverted to prose 09-12-05

Is there someone around who is designed to tell everyone what the problems are, and what you have to do to solve them? Probably not, because people like that would have been found a while ago, if they existed. Then there would be no more wars, no more violence, there would be a loving caring feeling among people of different beliefs. Well, for that last one, maybe people wouldn’t have such strong beliefs. That’s where the problems come from. The problems come from having ideas, having theories, thinking they have to be the right ideas, and then acting on those ideas without checking your premises to see if they were even the right ideas.
I’ve done that. I’ve hoped, maybe it wasn’t exactly hope, but I thought, that everything would fall into place and everything would have a happy ending for me. I’ve discovered that after all of these years those happy ending haven’t come around, and that there is no reason to have hope.
I know that’s not what you wanted to hear. Sorry.
But on some levels it’s true. People could want someone to deliver flowers to them, for no reason, other than because you wouldn’t expect it and it would be nice. People could say something nice to you, out of the blue, to brighten your day.
Wouldn’t it be nice is someone you knew came up to you to tell you they loved you? I mean, you know they love you, and you love them, but sometimes it’s nice to hear.
I think men don’t get that sometimes. They don’t remember that women like nice things for them, even if it’s not expensive. Or even if it’s not something they’d normally think to do.
I guess I like nice things done for me. I want someone to give me flowers. I want someone to call me when they said they would (that doesn’t cost money). I want someone to tell me I’m worth something. It’s not all about gifts, it’s about consideration. So is that too much to ask?
I’ve wanted things like that for years. Sometimes I’ve been given a glimmer of hope but then that little sparkling toy that was in front of me is then pulled away (just like the way you can make a baby cry by showing them something, then taking it away).
I’m tired of wanting things. No one is going to make dreams come true; I can’t even do that for myself. So why should someone else do that for me then?




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Chicago poet Janet Kuypers
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