Wharton

I have a pet frog.  Yes I know, kind of strange, but aren't we all considered strange?  For a long time, he was in a terrarium that stood across the room from my computer.  Now, he is on the desk, just to the left of my monitor.  He sits at his preferred spot, and watches me at the computer. Today he sloughed his skin.  He does this about once a month.  It is a strange process where he uses his feet to pull off a very thin layer of useless dry skin.    He is now a bright and shiny green.  Almost as if he is starting over with a new skin.  I wish starting over where that easy for me.   

I wonder at how good his life is and how lucky he is sometimes.  Food on a regular basis.  Warmth from the heating pad all day.  Fresh water every day.  Entertainment from watching me and the cats.   Nothings trying to eat him.  All good right?  Then I wonder how horrible his life is.  Trapped in a 13in by 20in glass box.  The same food everyday.  No where to go except the few features in his terrarium.  No adventure.  No female companions....  There are 2 views to his life.  His view point looking out.  And mine, looking in.

There are 2 sides to every story.     When the other one left, she said a lot of very negative things about me.  I ignored them as best I could.  I missed her dearly.  She was the sunshine in our relationship. She was the source of most of our laughter. I understood that she was resentful and angry.  She saw me as an interloper, an enemy.  She walked out that day with out letting me know that I was the reason she was leaving.  She left me with questions.  She left me with out warning.   I didn't find out until later when hollow came home that she left because of me.    I am sure that there are conversations that I was not privy to that led to her leaving.  I am sure that I will never know the particulars.  I only have one side to the story, and that one has many holes in it.   I don't contact the other one.  I leave her in peace to get on with her life.  I do know that she has found happiness, and I am very happy for her.

There are 2 sides to my recent story.  Neither one is pretty.    There is the side of the story that paints a girl fighting to make a committed relationship work.  Then there is a side of the story that tells of how she died a little every day being in a glass box.  

All Wharton has known his entire life is a glass box.  He was hatched in a small white plastic container.  Then moved into a glass box.  Shipped in a white plastic container and put up for sell in another glass box.  He came home with me in a white plastic container and I put him in a glass box.  He does not pine away missing the thrill of hunting his own food.  Or pout at being alone.  He is after all, just a frog.  Lucky frog.