Bear with me (or don't, it is entirely up to you to leave, I will not make you stay, I will never make you stay)- I'm here because this is one of those times when I need a blank space, and my diary is too full of thoughts and emotions to offer me that, and because I want to think about how I am feeling, and not why, and this is where I turn to for that. I haven't written in a while, and I'm rusty, and I suppose this is what it feels like to climb onto a bike after you haven't ridden in a while- not that I would know, I never learned to ride without my training wheels. (Maybe that's why I'm so cautious and concerned about dealing with adult life- I never even mastered how to deal with childhood, and my foundations are shakier than most.) Except perhaps it is more like getting on a bicycle after years of not riding, but when drunk- because not only must I learn to ride again, but I must also, simultaneously, marshal my thoughts into some semblance of coherence.
Can you tell I'm playing all my Ed Sheeran songs? He still gets to me, and I hope he always will, will always be able to wash me away with his voice and his words. I will never be able to write like that, but as long as someone can, I suppose I don't really need to.
Where was I? Oh yes. Blank space- an empty page. I'm not sad/depressed and frustrated this time, like I was
the last time I decided to use this blog for myself, wholly and unabashedly, without censorship or self-restraint- or at least, that isn't all I'm feeling- it is not that simple this time, the process of characterizing my thoughts and feelings. I suppose I'm lonely, and in need of a good laugh- I suppose I'm in need of a conversation, an actual, real-life
conversation, which does not revolve solely around someone/me telling me/someone else what to do. I suppose I'm in need of a life.
As I was saying, before I was distracted by the newspaper ("Once upon a time, there was a home." I wonder if real estate advertisers realize the impact their words might have on one sad girl sitting in a white and beige room, with clothes strewn around and books neatly piled, a girl with a propensity for embracing everything into the interpretation of her experiences? For that matter, I wonder if most of us realize what impact our words might have. Are we too self-absorbed, or do we just not give ourselves so much importance in other people's lives?), and the need to clean my room (put my shoes in a line of neat, orderly pairs, because you know which shoes belong with each other even if you don't with people), and the fact that it is too warm without a fan (suffocating- pressed down- smothered- but there is nothing holding me here, there is nothing but myself keeping me from walking into the fresh air and clean sunshine, or at least switching on the fan and drawing a blanket about myself, but then again, I'm quite the force, no mean feat to contend with) and too cold with it, as I was saying, my thoughts are a meandering mess right now, at least as entangled as my first attempt at weaving would be.
I think this is, at least in part, brought on by that god-awful (beautiful, evocative, heart-wrenching)
book the Marshmallow decided would be a good idea to present me with (I cannot tell you how grateful I am for it- I hate you). I think it is, in part, brought on by the fact that I was silly and careless, and that I forgot something I shouldn't have- that I am not, it may come as a surprise to learn, a perfectly functioning human. In part, it is brought on by the fact that we are not talking. In part, it is because I only have two hands. It is because I am terrified, walking the streets alone, my heart thudding at all the threats walking around. Because I use too many commas and spend too much money and eat too much junk and drink too much coffee (a recent addition, this one) and feel too irrationally. It is because I have too much time on my hands and too many thoughts in my mind, and feelings which refuse to form themselves into manageable words.
It is because I am young, and lost, and I cannot see the road ahead, or recognize the road I'm on right now, for that matter, and because the only necklace I want to buy has pendants of an arrow and crossroads, because even my accessories must reflect, must scream quietly, elegantly, how very lost I am.
I wonder what I'll feel that way about, and when. I have before, I have been lucky enough to have had moments where I was ready to die, such was my contentment.
(August 20th, in an auto by Infinitea, I see you sitting in the window and it is enough. I do not even need to go inside. You are enough. Waking up to open the door as you step into our room with a suitcase and a careworn smile, here at last, it is enough. Two years ago- stepping drained and battle-worn into my mother's rejuvenating arms, her life-giving smile, home, it is enough. Your small projectile self barreling into my arms as I surprise you with my presence, it is more than I could have imagined. Collapsing on a white bed with wheels in a room where the AC does not work, your head in my lap, and you sitting behind me with your head on my shoulder- it is enough. Under a tree, my head on your shoulder, it was enough.)
What will be enough for me?
This is my favourite Ed song- in the way that Ode to a Nightingale is my favourite poem, because it touches a place in my soul other poems and songs don't, even if my mind recognizes that they are just as lovely, even if they sway my heart just as much- and I am going to choose to stop with this one, even though there were songs and accompanying thoughts I didn't quote and write about ("It's all right to die, cause death's the only thing you haven't tried."- so melodramatic, and of course I love it.) I'm going to choose to stop because I'm okay now, my thoughts have hushed and settled down for a nap, the buzzing and the noise has quietened to listen to the songs and music, because I have comforted myself, and my hands are free again. Because dinner is getting cold, and I have friends and work to attend to. Because this is enough for me, for now. And perhaps contentment and peace, like belonging and joy, must be taken in the moments when we can find them.
~Sam
