Sixty-Three

Day Sixty-Three:  Finally moved the Nutella off of my desk

Isn’t anyone else envious of Regina Spektor and her voice and her lyric writing ability?  She is such a beautiful Creator.  I wish I was more confident in my beautiful Creating ability but I have very little confidence in my own work.  I’ve been editing a short story that I wrote about two years ago and it’s weird to look over my own creative work and try to really enjoy it.  I just think everything I write is very…not good.  Ungood.  The opposite of beauty.

How considerably familiar that crooked smile of yours has become,

How back-pocket that hard-water scent of a hotel has grown to me,

Feeling a heartbeat through my own chest, someone’s other-ness complacent

With my own two feet on the ground.

As sincere as my own bitten-down fingernails have chosen to exist

I find myself remembering those small moments that are so unnoticeable to the others,

Those blind ones,

Who may hear you loud and clear

But can’t look past the things they already know

To see something intimate, miniscule in the grand scheme.

How thankful I am that I know.

Sorry about that that just needed to come out.  I’m looking at a picture ofa waterfall and that has become my anchor lately for all kinds of focus and other things.  In order to regain stability in my own life I’ve had to accept that instability is expected in the world around ,e.  You are living your own life completely different than mine, but we live it side by side, you dig?  Is it so hard to just sort of fit together like pieces of a puzzle instead of  sliding past like marbles in a paper bag.  The threat of falling is too real to bear, and when one falls it’s like a flood gate has opened.

So what can I say today?  I am tired, and have been having all kinds of thoughts about Creating and being and co-existing that it seems to all have jumbled up within me.  Not so much bottled, because here it lays before you, but more like splashed on the back burned until I could sit down and blow it out for you now.  What am I going to do with my life?  Is that why I write these random things here?  To understand my point to existing?  Am I too deep for a Monday?

It’s so hard to have a simple but clear voice that I feel like sometimes I lose mine.  I love the things that I love and stay true to the things that I believe and yet here things become so..murky.  I become confusing, and riddled with questions.  It’s okay for me, because I like it this is how I write and enjoy reading things.  Is it okay for you?  The thing is, no one ever responds to these questions.

I don’t know how to end things today, maybe with just a simple ode to your happiness and well being this evening.  I truly hope that everything in your life doesn’t suck.

Sincerely,

x