But I Don't Want to Wait

I'm... almost... there. The end has been on the horizon, but its actually starting to clear up now. 

"Now all you can do is wait. It must be hard for you, but there is a right time for everything. Like the ebb and flow of tides. No one can do anything to change them. When it is time to wait, you must wait."

-Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Digits

A notable amount of time has passed since my last entry that one would be led to believe that something of significance has happened; something of a worthy cause to divert my attention from my dedication to writing. The truth is I have been engaged in massive quantity of writing, just not the writing I prefer. Blogs and journals and poems and short stories have taken a back seat to essays, research papers, and lesson plans - all of which hold little of my interest to be quite honest. They have taken their toil on my state of being, overwhelming and stressing me to the point of feeling unproductive or unaccomplished. So many other responsibilities fall to the wayside, outmatched by school assignments and work. I haven't been on a trail ride with my nice bike in a couple months now; I haven't applied for new jobs in weeks; I have unfinished poems and short stories;I have stacks of books to read....even cleaning or dishes or laundry go unattended until there's an intolerable smell. 

I guess it would be pretentious of me not to acknowledge a milestone or two. Like my first pedicure. Oh, and leaving my 20's...that's apparently suppossed to be a big deal. Or feel like a big deal. Its should feel like something, and I'm struggling with that a bit. It felt just like a birthday. Don't get me wrong, people have been beyond attentive and generous. I have actually been blessed beyond expectations, though I'm unsure what my expectations even were. I often find myself asking, "Well, what next?" because endings are suppossed to open up beginnings and beginnings mean something has ended. It always gets tricky when trying to decipher which is which. 

But my 20s have ended, the school year has ended, my graduate studies are ending, and Africa is beginning. So I embark, and maybe embarking is so often confused with starting and not  undertaking. Life is an undertaking, and though things seem like they come and go or start and stop, this life is an embarkment. 

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.

Use the Remote

I wish I too could drop in the middle of the floor and have everything stop or wait up for me. Really, how great would it be if I could just put myself in time out? When I'm ready, I'll emerge, possibly with a new game plan, and it would be as if I never skipped a beat...

Well, he does miss Music or snack sometimes, but that's not exactly the point.

I'm just coming off a week of recooperation and could already petition for another one. It feels as if it never happened. The pressure to complete a handful of things and make decisions about others is almost a physical feeling right now; like my body can feel the weight of everything on top, pushing down. It becomes an immense burden. I'd like to know what the future holds; I'd like to know how things are going to play out.  Maybe this is the moment right before something dynamic is going to happen. This weight that bares you down before you can be built up again.

"For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.
So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.

This is your birth. "
— n.t.  

What Dreams May Come

I keep having these strange dreams; its been a few nights in a row now. There doesn't seem to be a particular theme amonst them, but they're popping up much more often than usual. I wake up with just bits and pieces, still half asleep and trying to put them together but not quite sure what the outcome is. They involve locations, or I should say, that location plays an important role in them. I'm in New York with a sibling; a sibling is here with me; my parents want me there but they don't know if they want to be there either. Its as if we're all trying to find our place. Maybe its my own anxiety; I need answers regarding the upcoming months and its been a bit difficult trying to get them. I understand that I am looking for certain answers, and those may not be the ones I get...

agatha christie quote

Relief or Grief

"Sometimes I wish for falling

Wish for the release

Wish for falling through the air

To give me some relief

Because falling's not the problem

When I'm falling I'm in peace

It's only when I hit the ground

It causes all the grief."

-Florence and the Machine

Sometimes I think becoming an adult is one of the stupidest things I've ever done. What was ever the rush to grow up? To leave behind those days when someone else organized my schedule and paid my bills? It creeps up little by little, but still manages to shock you when you realize, "Shit, that's coming out of my bank account" or "Shit, I have to confront that person about how they're trying to screw me over."

It must start in high school, when you're parents no longer check your planner to see what assignments you have to get done. You're just expected to get the homework done and study for the test. But even then, if there's a problem with a teacher you're parent is there to make the phone call. College comes along and you have to deal with your grades and your professors, but your parents still deal with money, the car, doctors, food, and whatever else seems out of your league. Then you get your own place on the other side of the world, well, if you're me you do, and all kinds of things are in your hands. Things that the average 23 or 24 year old wouldn't be handling and things your parents wouldn't be handling either. So you learn and laugh and cry and scream and curse and celebrate and grow before coming back to that same old comfort that you once knew. Then you leave and come back. Maybe one more time, or maybe two or three, until its too embarassing to admit that you live with your parents.  And even though you're only down the street or around a few blocks, being out for good makes a helluva lot of difference than being out for a time.  It hits me a different way; where I realize I'm not saving money. I'm not accessing their internet, I'm not using their zip lock bags,                        I'm not drinking their coffee...I'm paying rent and utilities and facing off with people at the license burrow.  Don't get me wrong - there are plenty of other advantages and perks. Like not having to call to tell where I am past 10:00, or making a mess in the kitchen and cleaning it up later, or stacking my clothes and my books wherever I desire. I've experienced a taste of those things before; the trade off just seems much greater this time around. 

And More Snow

This winter's soundtrack. 

1. Be Your Husband - Jeff Buckley, live
2. Ego Free Sex Free - Autre Ve Neut
3. Demons - The National
4. I Don't Want Love - The Antlers
5. Man On Fire - Edward Sharpe
6. Wings - Birdy
7. Everlasting Light - The Black Keys
8. Canvas - Imogen Heap
9. Gale - The Lumineers
10. Cassieopia - Sara Bareilles

Community

I'm not much of a work-out partner. I like to get in, drown everything out with my head phones and thoughts, and get out. But I'm often attracted to some spectacle of the human condition. The gym is certainly one of the best places to people watch. There is the guy is the pool lane next to me, googles and all, who never puts his head under water. He just thrashes about like a netted dolphin. Or sometimes reminds me of Zach Braff in Garden State. There is a woman who comes every day, between the same hours, and though she goes to a locker and puts a lock on it, she brings her entire gym bag into the pool room with her. She has her swimsuit underneath her clothes, which she puts back over even after she's all wet. The older man comes to the big windows and looks in before he decides if its worth it or not.

There are some girls that are just far too cute to be working up a sweat. She has lots of pink and everything matches. Her hair doesn't move and the make-up prevents their face from glistening under the lights. I saw one in Christmas knee-high socks, biker shorts, a stripped tank, and a head band. The guy with the flames tattooed up his legs who looks at himself in the mirror frequently. "Beef" is what I want to nickname the curly-haired guy with the milk jug of water and loud voice.

I miss the girl at the counter checking people in, who knew me by name. But I was recognized the other day, by a former YMCA-er, who flattered me with the comment, "You're gettin' skinny."  Yes, I was the girl who ran and ran. I can't run and run anymore, I tell her. It's still a testament.

So someone is watching me, too.

picture via amodernhepburn