First bat of the season - at least for my eyes. It fluttered and flapped and scooped up every newborn bug it could get its maw on. The shape was so crisp and distinct against the cloudy (albeit not stormy) sky - perfect scallops on the wings as it swung just a few feet from my face.
The appearance (finally) of rain-capable clouds, the tease of the virga, the beauty of the approaching monsoon season sprinkles my mind with magic. You never know quite when the rains will first come, but sometime between now and three months from now they should be here... the waiting is exquisite torture, and the first arrival is always a celebration.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
I fell out of forever when I realized where I was....
The dreams I had been clutching kept cluttering my vision, and my information was two years old because I had no room for anything new and then I looked up and even though I had been walking for five years the street corner remained the same.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
All in tha head
Some bizarre resurgence of love of life and the glittering stream of dust in the sunlight - and I don't know what to make of it, passing fancy perhaps? It's been months with my head shoved deeply in the mud for various reasons (some I know and some I don't) and here I am suddenly feeling like being a person again.
It always starts this way, burgeoning hope, the idea that I can do anything - then I look at the piles of unfinished projects, the stacks of things promised and left undone, the months of a world abandoned, the things I really should do before I can do anything else and then it all comes crashing back down. If not at that instant, then soon after.
I don't want that to be the case. I'm going to deny it. This time things will be different (just like they have been every other This Time, huh?).
There is a touch of mental to me, but you can't see it unless I am histrionic and over the top. I stopped doing that in public, I keep it to myself now - and when I can't I just don't go anywhere. So how does that get handled as my child ages and becomes cognizant of my crazy? Or is my crazy really all in my head?
It's lonely in here - with these thoughts I can't share. I can tippity type them all over in various cloaks, that is no bother and no worry. What I want is a shady tree and a margarita and a friend who won't disdain me after listening, nor pity me - just nod his/her head and let us go on to the next topic.
It always starts this way, burgeoning hope, the idea that I can do anything - then I look at the piles of unfinished projects, the stacks of things promised and left undone, the months of a world abandoned, the things I really should do before I can do anything else and then it all comes crashing back down. If not at that instant, then soon after.
I don't want that to be the case. I'm going to deny it. This time things will be different (just like they have been every other This Time, huh?).
There is a touch of mental to me, but you can't see it unless I am histrionic and over the top. I stopped doing that in public, I keep it to myself now - and when I can't I just don't go anywhere. So how does that get handled as my child ages and becomes cognizant of my crazy? Or is my crazy really all in my head?
It's lonely in here - with these thoughts I can't share. I can tippity type them all over in various cloaks, that is no bother and no worry. What I want is a shady tree and a margarita and a friend who won't disdain me after listening, nor pity me - just nod his/her head and let us go on to the next topic.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
When consciousness has reached a certain point of maturity, or a certain period of time with no maturation occurring, the time has come to either fork off or die off. Flowering can only occur if proper nutrients were given to the roots, and sometimes even that is not enough.
Empty, empty, empty. Hollowed out rotten stump, placeholder for an idea that never awoke.
Empty, empty, empty. Hollowed out rotten stump, placeholder for an idea that never awoke.
Monday, January 10, 2011
When staring down the well
Still stranded in this limbo, my life progresses without my full presence and doesn't even seem to notice that I am not attending. I would have an opinion on that, but I would have to check in to do so.
Having fallen so far out of the machine, it is troubling to see the gears in motion. There is no easy means of reentry, it doesn't slow down just to allow one to ease back in. Then there is the question of whether or not one even WANTS back in. No, that isn't a question. One doesn't, there just seems to be no other solution for a person who cannot think quickly enough on her feet to create alternative solutions. Age factors in now, something that was not considered in the wild wanderings of youth. The time spent playing in the field comes to weigh heavily against any future options. Promise squandered turns to certainty of servitude, the longer the machine is ignored the further down one will be relegated.
And there is no one to blame - certainly there have been factors but those are far and away gone. Thumb twiddling has been the largest single contributor to my demise in the possibility of being anything of meaning in this world. It only saddens me because now I have to pick through the rubble of my indecision and try to find something less than humiliating to become, and in this process I am forced to look at all I could have been had I only bothered to try.
Or could be I am fooling myself - maybe there was no promise after all. It would be more comforting to believe that at this point, that the fault lies in genetics and bad breeding rather than in my own innate sloth.
Having fallen so far out of the machine, it is troubling to see the gears in motion. There is no easy means of reentry, it doesn't slow down just to allow one to ease back in. Then there is the question of whether or not one even WANTS back in. No, that isn't a question. One doesn't, there just seems to be no other solution for a person who cannot think quickly enough on her feet to create alternative solutions. Age factors in now, something that was not considered in the wild wanderings of youth. The time spent playing in the field comes to weigh heavily against any future options. Promise squandered turns to certainty of servitude, the longer the machine is ignored the further down one will be relegated.
And there is no one to blame - certainly there have been factors but those are far and away gone. Thumb twiddling has been the largest single contributor to my demise in the possibility of being anything of meaning in this world. It only saddens me because now I have to pick through the rubble of my indecision and try to find something less than humiliating to become, and in this process I am forced to look at all I could have been had I only bothered to try.
Or could be I am fooling myself - maybe there was no promise after all. It would be more comforting to believe that at this point, that the fault lies in genetics and bad breeding rather than in my own innate sloth.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Somewhat surfacing after months of floundering, surviving in this transition from a person everyone knows (but doesn't know) to a person who knows herself.
The public parts of me have mostly withered off, theoretically this means below ground there lies a fragrant bulb of spice and healing ready to be extracted. We'll see about that. Age has brought a mellowing to me, but also a heavy load of pessimism. I used to believe in hope, now I hope I can find belief.
It was a quaint part of my life, that time when every moment shimmered with promise. Some call it youth, for me it didn't come until early adulthood. One day my senses switched from perceiving every moment as a call to doom to perceiving every moment as a special sign sent just for me, to guide me on my special journey to save not just myself but - THE WORLD!!!
A few years of being throttled by reality cured that, along with some meds. I'm off the meds now, but the senseless hope and shimmering beauty remain elusive - except in the visage of my child, a beautiful toddler who bounced into my life after an assumption of sterility was accepted as fact at my "advanced maternal age".
All there is left now, after reducing my stalk to bare stem and root, is the void of winter. That time where you wait to see how things will branch out in the spring, what fruit will be born. What I drop on this soil in the meantime will be the food to bring me back. I hope.
I don't know who to be anymore. I have become only someone else, Mommy or wifey. I've lost "me", which is good since "me" wasn't very likable anymore, and certainly wasn't very productive or creative. But I can't sit here forever in the void, there must be a new "me", who will she be? I don't want a self-centered, self-absorbed diva, nor do I want a subvervient, invisible slave. Something inbetween? Someone who cares enough about others to reach out and knows when to withdraw for the good of others and herself? In the past, I have given too much, given myself into famine so that nothing was left of me for me - and the people i gave to remained needy and helpless because they never had to plow for themselves. Someone who care about herself enough to develop her own interests with self-confidence, without caring if those interests are "good" or if she is "good enough", as long as she is not hurting anyone and is nurturing her family.
God, I don't know... I have to stop thinking about it and dive in, be... become... return... fuck it all. If my small town stumbles on my words and finds me queer, who cares? I've censored my being for far too long to try to remain acceptable, I no longer care. This is who I am, I am a ball of rumbling words and failed desires and hopeless aspirations and if you don't want to watch turn away but I cannot sit and avoid trying any longer. My little goddess needs that I aspire to be more than I am, for that I forgo my sense of humility and dive headlong into shameful aspirations of divinity.
The public parts of me have mostly withered off, theoretically this means below ground there lies a fragrant bulb of spice and healing ready to be extracted. We'll see about that. Age has brought a mellowing to me, but also a heavy load of pessimism. I used to believe in hope, now I hope I can find belief.
It was a quaint part of my life, that time when every moment shimmered with promise. Some call it youth, for me it didn't come until early adulthood. One day my senses switched from perceiving every moment as a call to doom to perceiving every moment as a special sign sent just for me, to guide me on my special journey to save not just myself but - THE WORLD!!!
A few years of being throttled by reality cured that, along with some meds. I'm off the meds now, but the senseless hope and shimmering beauty remain elusive - except in the visage of my child, a beautiful toddler who bounced into my life after an assumption of sterility was accepted as fact at my "advanced maternal age".
All there is left now, after reducing my stalk to bare stem and root, is the void of winter. That time where you wait to see how things will branch out in the spring, what fruit will be born. What I drop on this soil in the meantime will be the food to bring me back. I hope.
I don't know who to be anymore. I have become only someone else, Mommy or wifey. I've lost "me", which is good since "me" wasn't very likable anymore, and certainly wasn't very productive or creative. But I can't sit here forever in the void, there must be a new "me", who will she be? I don't want a self-centered, self-absorbed diva, nor do I want a subvervient, invisible slave. Something inbetween? Someone who cares enough about others to reach out and knows when to withdraw for the good of others and herself? In the past, I have given too much, given myself into famine so that nothing was left of me for me - and the people i gave to remained needy and helpless because they never had to plow for themselves. Someone who care about herself enough to develop her own interests with self-confidence, without caring if those interests are "good" or if she is "good enough", as long as she is not hurting anyone and is nurturing her family.
God, I don't know... I have to stop thinking about it and dive in, be... become... return... fuck it all. If my small town stumbles on my words and finds me queer, who cares? I've censored my being for far too long to try to remain acceptable, I no longer care. This is who I am, I am a ball of rumbling words and failed desires and hopeless aspirations and if you don't want to watch turn away but I cannot sit and avoid trying any longer. My little goddess needs that I aspire to be more than I am, for that I forgo my sense of humility and dive headlong into shameful aspirations of divinity.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Statement of Purpose
This page is for free writing. There may or may not be a point. I commit to nothing. It just is.
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