Returning Rodents

It is amazing the way rodents work their way slowly but steadily into whatever it is that takes their fancy. There are cute rodents, like sweet little fluffy rabbits, and then there are the not so cute. And although the aesthetic appearance of the two varies a great deal, they are intrinsically the same, only thing is the grey one probably never takes a bath and is filthy and riddled with disease. The white bunny is ever so cute because it probably is a very well groomed rodent. The same goes for human beings, there are the cute and the not so cute. The bunny and the rat. And the world's not all bad, there are plenty of bunnies running around, especially little bunny people. Then there are mice people, and when it cannot get any worse but it does, you get a big black rat straight out of the sewage sometimes also called life, at least one part of life. If I have learnt anything at all during my 16+ years occupying the post of Principal Viola with the Malta National Orchestra, it is patience. Perhaps not a good kind of patience. A patience which I saw in action, a patient man, quite small and very clever who didn't know how to spell the word rash, but instead waited for his enemies to be on the downside and pounce on them and then tear them to pieces. A vulture man. Even if that meant he had to wait patiently for 20 years. I never agreed very much with this kind of a patience, but I have to say I have seen it work, and sadly, it works brilliantly. But it also means you have to hold a grudge for a 20+ years, something which I am not ready to do. I have something called hurt, but that is different. Being wounded is far more different than waiting to strike with a dagger in hand. That's so different. Unfortunately, because I probably am very good at being a simpleton, the rat is at work again and he's had a head start. Because I didn't know he would strike again, and anyway I wouldn't know how to strike beforehand. What's done is done now. It's started. It is already evident in the way that my family are scorning me and laughing at my anger. Which is wrong. Anger is a big part of sadness, but my family have not been through what I have, so they are completely ignorant in the subject. But I'd better stop excusing them because it's not helping either. I know that the rat can be extremely influential. And if they choose to be influenced then I'm going to have very little choice. My twin has screamed down the phone at me, while I have screamed twice as hard at him. My mum must suddenly think that I'm some sort of jester and has grinned at my plea. My dad must think I'm a buffoon. Worst of all is that all three think I am laughing material because of the dreaded big issue. Which is making me even sadder. Because if my own blood and flesh have suddenly stopped seeing the me inside, if they think I deserve to be smirked at, if they think I deserve to be ratted around because of my 100+kgs, then there is nothing I can do. I cannot exactly give myself a flat human tyre now and then. I have had my mum say that it's wrong and bad to be big. My dad thinks that since it somehow suddenly must be my fault then I deserve no sympathy. Yeah right dad, have you forgotten how much you weighed 35 years ago? I just take after my dad, he was bigger than me so I think he should just zip his mouth. But the equation seems to be, that since big is wrong and bad and I'm big, then I wrong and bad. What makes things worse is that this is being said by a woman obsessed with God, Jesus and church-going. I doubt very much that God or Jesus would really have such a thought. I doubt that I would be thrown into an abyss because I'm big. And I even doubt that God or Jesus would have thought of making an extra large opening just to be able to throw me into the abyss. Once upon a long time ago I sufferded from a lot of sensless guilt. A guilt which I had to work through on my own. And now I remember that I'm forgetting. Where was everybody when my life turned tragic? Nowhere. Where was my family? It was there but it didn't help much. So why am I expecting something different? People do not change. Nor do rats. And this is what's worse about returning rats, they make me so angry that I start saying silly things like these. Oh well, at least I'm harming nobody.