Rambling...

Sometimes I lie awake, my head overstuffed with things that really don't seem to matter but for some reason won't leave me alone. Or is it perhaps that I won't leave the various matters alone? Either way, I find myself awake all hours of the night.



I held a pen in my hand for a couple hours hoping words would run from the pen to paper evacuating my head. Constipation of the mind... There's no laxative for that particular problem. Now I'm sitting at my cluttered desk, fingers resting on the keys.... and nothing. Well, something but nothing of any great consequence.



"Write. Anything. Everything. Just write." That's what the professor told me. Just start writing and eventually it will all come spilling forth. Perhaps writing is more like photography. For every one thousand shots taken perhaps ten turn out perfectly. For every one thousand lines, one line turns out perfectly.



At what point did I become so tragically lame? My vast knowledge of the English language has dwindled to basic phrases and of all things, cliches. Ghastly! Last night I journaled about my day at the courthouse. It was dreadful. The writing, not the day, that is.



Perhaps I should stick to photography, though that's not exactly my forte either. What is? What is it that sets me apart from others? Do I even have a talent? I'd venture to say no.



And the clacking of the keys continues yet nothing but dribble is expelled. Yet I can't give up. Not yet. I'm determined to write something of worth....

Inner turmoil

Something is bothering me. I can't quite pinpoint the source. I find myself drifting away in thought throughout the day no matter the company. There's a great feeling of sadness within me though I have no reason to be.

In a conversation with him today my eyes began to burn and I felt the twinge before a tear slipped from my eye and fell before him. It was the first of many. There was nothing I could do to make them stop. I excused myself to the washroom where I glared at my reflection, mentally demanding the tears to cease. After flushing my face with cold water I had finally regained control of my lacrimal ducts.

Silly little things bring me to the edge of tears. I feel everything right now. I could blame it on hormone levels. I truly think there's something more than a womanly flux of chemicals, though. My nights are frequently sleepless. I've spent many hours planning murals for my ceiling during the hours I should be dreaming.

In the past month I've sorted through dozens of problems for others. It's so much easier helping others than it is to exam one's self. I feel that I may have forgotten how to take a step back. Step away from myself and look objectively on to see wherein the problem lies.

I'll figure it out. Hopefully soon. Or it will be the death of me.

We're agreed

"You know you feel it."

"Yeah, so," I say sheepishly and turn my head away, attempting to hide my flushing cheeks. Of course I realize there's no use. He knows. Everyone knows. I'm like a book some say. At this particular moment, I'm more like a picture book; anyone can read me. I do feel it. I just don't know how to say it. That's not entirely true. Fear grips me tightly and squeezes every breath from me. I can't say it. It's physically impossible.

"Okay, so I feel it. I'm not saying it. I'm not using the "L" word. I refuse." I feel like I've admitted defeat. There might as well have been a stick in my hand with a white flag tied to the end waving in the air. I looked up to find a little smirk on his face. Quickly, I looked away again.

"We're agreed then." He kissed me once and smiled.


That was then... Now, well, now things are different.
He took the leap. After watching him dive in, I followed. And I've never been happier nor have I been so afraid. The "L" word isn't to be thrown around and used like some common term. It carries with it weight and deep profound meaning.

I caught myself gazing up at him as I was sprawled across one side of his bed and he sat typing away on the Mac. I realized how much I simply adore him. He's perfect in the ways that I am not. We compliment each other well. We enjoy each other's humor. That is something!

Sunday (Father's Day) evening he stopped by my house and ventured a game of Scene It with my family. Games are often dangerous in our house. We're a bit competitive and often ruthless. Well, depending on the game. When it comes to trivia... we tend to get a bit fierce. The day had been long and hot. We were all a bit tired and cranky. He stuck it out. I'm so pleased he gets along with my family. It's so very important to me. After everyone had gone to bed we stayed up to watch a few episodes of Robot Chicken.

He rested his head in my lap and his long body stretched out over the couch. Moments later I noticed his breathing had changed. I watched as his chest rose and fell rhythmically. There in my lap he slept, weary from a long day. It was perfect. My romantic side, the one I often tend to stifle, took great delight in the situation. It's possible that he was just so exhausted he would have fallen asleep anywhere. The other side of me argued that he was in fact quite content sleeping in my lap. I desperately longed to bend down and lightly kiss his soft lips. Of course, I refrained. He needed the sleep and I didn't want to ruin the perfect image.

One foot in front of the other. That's the only way to really go forward, right? That's the approach I'm taking anyway.

Writer's Block

Everything is there right below the surface. No matter how hard I try to hide it or bury it... it's still there. So I sat down and tried to let it out. I wanted everything to be released, flow freely from me.

I lit a candle, turned on soothing music, and sat comfortably at the computer. My mind flooded with images, memories of the little things that mean so much to me, little comments here and there. But nothing flowed past that.

What do I do? How do I get it out? I think I just won't allow myself to let go. Because if I do, then it's real. Then I'm allowing myself to have those feelings. But feelings are neither right nor wrong which is what I truly believe. So why don't I allow myself to feel these things? It's so frustrating for me. I can't imagine what it must be like for others around me.

Risks

"Why are you so guarded?"
That is the question, isn't it? It makes perfect sense to me but when I open my mouth to explain there's nothing. Quickly my mind searches for words and my throat releases some strange noise I've never heard myself make. He looks at me, an eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer. But I have no response. My mouth closes and my eyes close. Why is this so difficult? Fear of the unknown. Nothing is guaranteed.
He leans over. I feel the warmth of his cheek on mine as he whispers in my ear. There's a stinging in my eyes. I bite my lip.

The truth is always staring us in the face, out in plain view for all to see. It only becomes difficult to see because we have preconceived notions and ideas. We muddle everything up. As usual. We're good at that. Or maybe it's just me. I tend to think not.

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm standing on the edge of the dark. I know there's a road before me but I can only see a few feet ahead of me. All I have to do is take another step and I'll see a little further. I hesitate. I talk to myself frequently, arguing about my options. Some days are better than others. And some moments are easier than others. I guess the best thing to do is take a breath and place my foot forward. Calculated risks... Risk nothing, gain nothing.

Coming Soon

It has been ages since I've updated. I do apologize. I'm in the midst of composing a great blog. Okay, maybe not great but worthy of your attention...

It's just taking a bit of work. Also, I have a ton of laundry to work on. I do mean a ton! Just ask Grace! The mound is slightly less now.