Still Here

I’m trying not to see the elephant in the room, trying to carry on as if it weren’t there, here. I don’t know if I can. It’s big.

I don’t want to write about the elephant. I wrote a word or two about it in my small hand-written journal last week. Didn’t help. Didn’t make the elephant go away, which is what I want. Life without elephants. Because I have to say that Life, note the capital L, presents sufficient difficulty for me without elephants, without my having to step around an elephant--or plow right into it.

I did take some measured steps towards it recently, touched the actual elephant a couple of times, if gingerly. Maybe it's friendly, I must have thought. But no. The beast was unmoved and remains unmoved. See. I’m writing about it, which is what I did not want to do. But it's still here, and at this moment, I can hardly see anything else in the room.

I wonder if elephants left unattended just go away on their own. Or do they destroy the house? I wonder.