Basically, that’s how I feel today.
The end of a long work week–not as long as before but long enough. And nothing to show for it—just more goodbyes. My life seems like a stage with endless cameos–people appearing then vanishing again just as suddenly. But I bet there will be many more before the curtain finally falls.
I haven’t had time to write—Jade is really mad at me and wanting to move beyond the first scene with the writing desk and the teapot. But every time I try it feels like some charade–a sham that only detracts from the wonderful person I know her to be.
34 hrs—normally it would be 46 under my belt but 34 will have to do. I can’t get up at 5am–I’m physically incapable of it. By Friday I could barely open my eyes let alone roll out of bed. And I loved the people I left—but isn’t that the story of my life? And the pain doesn’t dimish with time–it only settles with fading into the background until you realize you haven’t thought of it in awhile and then it comes back afresh—the pain just as vivid as before. If exes are that bad—why does every other relationship have to follow the same painful pattern??
So I settle with taking photos of stormy skies and let my internal turmoil get swallowed up by the thunder. I’ve started gardening again—we’ll see if anything I touch can grow. My mother’s zucchini is doing really well ironically–she’s not know for her green thumb but then again neither am I.
And I watch old episodes of forgotten shows, sing to my dog, laugh about nothing at all, and rejoice in the bitterly cold rain. I need to journal again and have my sights set on a sumptious leather bound, distressed journal as large as an encyclopedia and just as thick. I need to start drinking tea again too–I got scared off when I started worrying about its potential to stain. There’s so much I want to do and so much I feel I’m not doing–every day I want to wake up completely alive but when the sun sets I feel like I haven’t moved a single step. It’s frustrating–this constant shifting back and forth like the endless ebb of the tides. Over and over, sanded smooth like polished obsidian–opaque but dense with the weight of memories.
I’ve become more communicative—if only through the impersonal ease of the internet. I rejoice in holidays, but I haven’t given anything up for Lent this year. Maybe I’ve given up a part of myself—but I can’t tell because I don’t think I’ve ever been completely whole. I’m just a cobbled image of shattered pieces–the jagged edges constantly cutting me. I sound depressed and prone to angst but I’m not—I just don’t get to vent very often and when I do it sounds like I’m the raven watching above my bedroom door.
Nevermore. That should be my motto. Nevermore. So here’s to tomorrow–and a brighter, blank slate full of possibilities!!
