One of my difficulties with blogging is that I rarely take the time to write a draft and then post. If I ever get around to writing poetry or a short something that I'd like others to see, that will be different, but even these little essays on life and personal events seem somehow scattered when I finally sit down to write. I do not know if it's just part of my process of writing, in order to find my rhythm in the act of writing my brain goes blank and then has to be jump-started, or if I just do better when not typing, or what, but there it is.
These last few days have been very eventful in my psyche. It is a time of year of many birthdays in my life, of people close to me physically and people absent from my completely. One dead almost 9 years, more than a few removed from me by distance and severed connections, a handful of peripheral acquaintances, a few friends and one of my roommates. And then, of course, the yearly facing up to the fact that I am getting older. I like getting older. Childhood sucked. Not because of my parents or because I was unhappy. I don't deal well with authority. I never have. As a child, almost every event that took place outside of my home involved a litany of "do this" or "don't do this." I believe that it is the same with most, if not all, children. I took it personally. One of the drawbacks of being preternaturally alert and sensitive.
And then there was this looming sense of loss. Loss of innocence. Loss of trust. Loss of laughter and tears. Loss of loved ones. And the ever awful reality that it is harder to accept that happiness is a perfectly acceptable state of being even in the face of those losses than it is to just be miserable and caught up in them. Yes, the hurt is worse while you feel it and no the void is never quite gone from your world, but it is okay and right and good to go on and not dwell. There can be so much guilt in not dwelling, like you aren't supposed to be happy when you miss someone. Someone died and they will never be around again and somehow you don't lose just a part of you, but all of you and that's what's supposed to happen otherwise the love that you felt for that person has been invalidated. Bullshit. Natural. Still bullshit.
So, I let go. Stopped it. And then.... besides the truly fucked up dreams involving a co-worker of mine appearing in the weirdest places speaking as though he was narrating the events in my head, suddenly there was clarity. Clarity that involved perspective. Clarity that hurt, as clarity does (ever wonder why I take my glasses off so much? yeah, that's part of it). I will not say epiphany, because those get so boring after a while. Which is cool, except that it brought back all of the stuff that I have decided to not focus on so much, which is to say that there are plenty of other things to think about which are much more interesting - why does Laurel K. Hamilton suck so much (There's so much potential, and I do keep reading these awful books, and I just can't stop and well, they are not so much good. Parts are good. Some parts. ow. my brain hurts. At least they aren't going to leave a permanent scar on my brain or my soul)? - can I make a melted crayon mobile with stuff that I have on hand? - do you suppose I can figure out a way to turn old bed sheets into a yoga mat? - what can happen to make the vacuum cleaners work better? - does a cat with wings have any real chance of learning how to fly with them? - do I really only need 4 hours of sleep or is it just my brain taking it out on my body for reasons that probably have nothing to do with me, but could really be figured out if only I were willing to involve myself? - You know, important stuff.
That happened, and there was yoga and today, oh my stars do I hurt! What?! I'll have to stretch out again this afternoon before the roast duck. Did I mention the roast duck? I don't think so.
Also, lots of good food this month. Most of it not bought by me. All of it with good company.
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