Is it so strange to me how this feels to write here again. To write in this space that saw the most downfall and the most damage in my life. To write on this blog again, to live what happened again, to chart all the feelings and all the thoughts that transpired again.
It’s like watching your life in a movie, in a series of vignettes. It’s like reading an encyclopedia on your life, and in some ways it hurts, but in other ways you can accept the feelings that come along with it.
I know exactly how I felt a year ago today, or nearly today. I know what I shared as what I felt was probably what I actually felt, or what I mostly actually felt. It is so strange to me that I am here again. It’s is bewildering, and frightening, and accepting, and complicated.
This is my life, this is who I am. This is what has happened to me, and this is what I am. I don’t know how to explain this better, but to say that I am still here, and I am probably in a better place now than I was last year.
Anyways,
That’s all for now.
Take the thickest socks
Wherever you are going you’ll have to walk
There may be water ~ there may be stones
There might be high places
You cannot go without the hope socks bring you
The way they hold you to the earth
At least one pair must be new, must be blue as you wish
Hand-knit by your mother in her sleep
Take a leather stachel, a velvet bag
And an old tin box - a salamander painted on the lid
This is to carry that small thing you cannot leave
Perhaps the key you’ve kept ~ though it doesn’t fit any lock you know
The photograph that keeps you sane
A ball of string to lead you out though you can’t walk back into that light
In your bag, leave room for sadness, leave room for another language
There may be doors nailed shut ~ there may be painted windows
There may be signs to warn you to be gone
Take the dream you’ve been having since you were a child
The one with the open fields and the wind sounding
Mistrust no one who offers you water from a well, a songbird’s feather
Something that’s been mended twice
Always travel lighter than the heart
(a poem I deeply love written by Lorna Crozier)
Emily, I still think you are the most beautiful girl in the world no matter what anyone says otherwise.
Emily, I found one of your drawings in a recycling bin, and it inspires me to de-clutter and simplify my life.
Emily, you are really very awkward, but really very nice. But, really very awkward.
Emily, I am glad I inspired you to do little things and make zines.
Emily, you are the love of my life, that is, everything I would look for in a girl who would like girls.
Emily, I am glad we’re still friends after all these years.
It’s going to be a radical/queer/feminist/folk-rap band.
Members: me
I have a quarter of a quarter of a song written, and a whole lotta swagger. I think this is going to be my bus fantasy now. That is, what I think about when I am riding the city bus to and from school. If you see me, and it looks like I am mumbling to myself, I am really making sure my words rhyme.
</too legit to quit>
"All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible. This I did."
— T. E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom (1922)
I have severely misplaced my cellphone. I am going to re-frame lost things as “severely misplaced” because it sounds better.
I am feeling pretty tired for 7:02pm.
