I'm feeling very in tune with Simon and Garfunkel's "I Am a Rock." Normally, I listen and take it as a reminder to be involved with the people and the world around me, but today I want to be a rock. Patently ridiculous, really, since I know, if anything, I'm a tree. Reaching roots and limbs to earth and sky, always trying to touch people in hopes they'll touch me. And since I've escaped serious damage thus far, I keep reaching.

I like vulnerability. I stand in my self, in my weaknesses and my fears, and I find strength in that. I'm glad I can find strength in that. But it hurts a great deal to anchor yourself in someone, to feel connected to them, nourished by them, and then to discover they've withdrawn. Is it my fault, I wonder. Did I do something wrong? Say something stupid? Have they simply changed? Have I? Were we never as close as I thought we were? Am I just a bad friend?

The connection still remains---and must be tended---but it's a pale imitation of what it used to be, and I'm not really sure how to maintain it. Especially since all the gifts I used to send along it---laughter and affection, joy, silliness, deep and solemn thoughts---are no longer welcome.

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