What/Who/When is the Cure?

This morning I almost admitted defeat. I almost embraced the weight of helplessness, and the fact that the blue sky and most beautiful clouds I'd ever seen in my entire life couldn't penetrate the fact that I was tired, and in over my head. And you know what? Maybe I am. But after a nap and a warm pair of dryer-fresh pants, things started to turn around. I made a playlist I could bounce along to, and work was awesome. It always is. How can things change so quickly? Part of me wants to feel afraid that this won't last, and that I'll fall back into whatever had me cliche-shower-crying earlier this morning. I'm not scared, though. The chest bubble of light feels like it's burst and spread throughout my entire body instead of restricting itself to outward-bound channels. I've infused my flesh with the love I wanted to share, and in that, I can share it with everyone, anyone. Everytime someone takes a paper or a pair of tickets from me, a little bit of it rubs off on them. Then their own light mixes with it, and soon we're all infected. If you'll excuse me, I have to eat, sing and sleep. Goodnight.

Imitation Imitation Crab

I just wanna be where I wanna be. I think it's safe to say that it's worse at night, with fractured memories of the day cycling through my head. The ups, the downs, and the moments where I just so badly wanted to feel, but I didn't know where to start. Where are the boundaries? Where do we start anew? I just wanna be where I wanna be. And I don't want to think or judge or fear, I just wanna be. Something warm would so perfectly balance out the could rain. Something solid and strong would balance out the watery consistancy of my equally rainy mind. I just want to be grounded, a treehugger. And if there's any tree I know who's suitable... Ah, but alas, such thoughts are inspiring a tiny 'tsk tsk' in my cortex. It's echoing from this tiny little lady who likes to keep rules in check. She's such a very small part of my decision making-process. My heart is home to a big, buoyant and jubilant African woman who laughs too loudly and drinks to much wine and snore when she sleeps. She will not be quieted - especially by the bony, dusty elder in my head. I make less and less sense each day. My habits are changing - my sleep schedule is entirely reversed. I get up at quarter to five at the earliest and seven at the latest. I get to bed between ten and eleven thirty. How strange all of this is, it makes me uneasy. Though I know this is what I am supposed to be doing and I feel I am just needing to grow accustomed to these new things. They are lovely - the candid and playful banter at my work place, and the simple pleasure of tearing tickets or folding papers. I'm gaining financial independance, too, so I may travel and throw myself, entirely helpless, into even more unknown. I'm going to go now, I'm tired. I have to get up at four fifty. I am not unhappy - I realized today that though I was shattered entirely the last few days, I am still whole. My heart aches, but it's not broken. I just feel lost, though I know, of all things that've been happening, I've been found. I just wish for my tree.

Spaghetti and Meatballs

Work's fun. Hectic. Ridiculous. But it gets me out of my head and into customer relations, which is nice. My kitty's head is the nicest to kiss, even though she's only putting up with me due to hunger. Heh. How am I? Man, I don't know. I feel different. Everything is painted a different shade of whatever colour it was last week, but what does that even mean? I glance into the living room to my left, and it's the same array of warm earth tones and books. But it's not the same place, almost. Or maybe it's not that the living room's changed, but I have. The steam coming off the spaghetti noodles in front of me and the burn on my left pointer finger - feel different. Strange. Maybe I'm strange. Psh, not maybe. The rain was witness to that proof. I've got to get up at 5 tomorrow, so I should go to bed around ten. Strange, again. I don't think I like it.

Euughghehghehghhh

My eyelids are so swollen SPONTANEOUS RACE CHANGE

When spring blooms, then you find a love that's true
But you don't know what now to do, because the chase is all you know
And she stopped running months ago

I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest swing.
I had a dream.

Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest tree.
I had a dream.

Now I'm old and feeling grey. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the highest wing.

I had a dream

Shrunken Lungs

The entirety of today was beautiful. Perhaps the pathetic fallacy was a little opposite, but that's part of the bittersweet smile on my face. In the morning when it was sunny, I was crying, but then the sky showed me up in the evening by raining cleansing energy down on me. I was so free, running up the driveway to the River, barefoot. Stomping into the hardwood floor, I was free and happy and God had kissed me on the top of the head so I know I am his daughter, full and true.
(I almost wrote 'but', but there is no 'but' in love.)

I was comforted, and now I am sad once more. Not to say that the wonderful night had no effect on me - I think it's exactly what I needed, and the fact that everything is so okay just makes me yearn. That bursting feeling is in my chest, still. I've never let it stay and grow for so long before - usually I chase it off by running away, and away from it. But now it's celebrating so vibrantly and relentlessly in my chest that it's a ceaseless thrumming that drums out tears because it can't get outside of my body through my arms and my lips and my fingertips. And how alone I am in this, it seems. I feel. I think. I mostly feel so horrifically alone in my own growth because it's down some side road I thought I wouldn't have to venture alone. I think this isn't appropriate, divulging all of these intimate emotions via blog.

Just stop me if I post my social insurance number. Yeah, numbers are much less personal, but identity theft would just really suck.

I don't know what to do.
Why do you have to do anything?
Because if I don't, I might just crack and shatter into a million shards of rose quartz, or explode into a million daisies, that will float down to the floor and land in my empty shoes. What a beautiful mess that would be. And that's what it would be, because it's something so huge and glorious that's threatening to burst me. How do I even try to contain it?
Don't try. Explode, you beautiful mess.


"Come down now", they'll say; but everything looks perfect from far away. "Come down now"-
but we'll stay.

Words can't express, but the look on my face can. I wonder what you'd see.

Pheonix

Hah. Pushing back against the sadness by having hope. Suck on that, emotional oppression - if you want to stick around, that's fine, but let's talk this out instead of you just leaning on me. You're too heavy; come sit down with me in my living room. I'll work with you, and you're valuable in your own way. I guess you must feel really underappreciated, huh? 'Cuz very few people want to be sad. I'd feel shitty too if noone wanted me. But you know, sadness, I believe you have a purpose. I believe you have a season and a place, and I thank you for that. Thank you for driving me to realize the value of what I feel I've lost, not in a sad way, but so I will appreciate and cherish my memories and the tools I've gained. Thank you for being there to wash me out with my own tears, and to keep things moving. You're tough to take, sometimes.

But I'm sure your brother will be along any minute.