Change

This morning I am reminded that any club that has to vote to let me in I will continue to avoid. I hate that kind of thing for some reason. Clicks should belong to my fingers tapping on the keys, woodpeckers on poles, maybe even a bit of percussion, but should not be for human socializing. People tend to change in big groups, and as long as the finger isn't pointed at them they don't mind pointing at you. The thought has crossed my mind that this could be a past life memory or maybe stamped in my DNA from ancestors who were persecuted from using their intelligence to stand up to the masses.
I was a Bluebird once for three days before I quit to ride my horse, Taffy Dawn, alone. I didn't hate the people there, or gluing popsicle sticks together into squares and rectangles. I just loved my horse more and she was waiting, and I was impatient, and the day had begun. Maybe I just knew I would never have enough of those days. . . .
I do love people, but for some reason large groups of anything I like better from a stage with a 10' elevation. Especially, if they are looking at me. It's even better if the lights are so bright I can't see them and I can shake, spin, sing, and laugh madly while I lift myself, (and anyone willing to travel), out of the fog.
Still, even at this age, I find myself terrified in large groups as I ready my weapon of choice. Machine gun laughter, quick, resonant, and piercing enough to be heard across a football field. Amazed and embarassed that I can still scare all but the very hardy with but one quick burst I use it to fend off those who would get too close without invitation, or a brave heart. ~;)
Some things change very little.