the winter of my discontent
sitting on a leaf pad, staring at the world--furrowed brow, chin in palm.
our apartment is tiny, well, tiny compared to what we're used to and what our furniture has accustomed itself to. everything inside of our miniature dwelling is holding its breath--holding out for an opportunity to relax without faltering and falling into a chaotic mess.
our life, too, seems to have shrunken in relation to the lives of those around us. i am working, though not enough, as is jay (more than enough), but there seems to be a lot of empty space in my internal view of how things should be. i'm bored and unchallenged and, in turn, i feel useless and uninteresting. we have few friends in this place that has, from afar, always seemed so familiar and comfortable, yet is now a mere symbol of our displaced minds. the friends we do have are either busy with their own bloated lives or have (in the case of a singular female) tried--and nearly succeeded--to tear us apart and have since disappeared from our field of vision. our education is on hold until washington residency has been established and our hobbies lie untouched in an abstract corner or buried beneath clothing and various accessories in our closet.
i'm giving it time. i'm waiting it out. i'm holding on for the fall, when reason tells me that all will fall into place (all except for our furniture, unless we are able to make the move downtown within the next six months). in the fall i WILL resume my education. i WILL have made a few friends and will continue meeting new ones. by then i WILL be well on my way to becoming a world class musician after having excavated my viola, dusted it off, and--in turn--allowed it to wipe the dust from my fingers, my arms, and the right side of my brain.
in time i will find my niche here and fall into it. by then i will have found comfort in this place that i once called home. until then i'll sit, furrowed brow, chin in palm, and wait for the clock to tick, the sun to rise and fall, rise and fall, and rise and fall again until my attention shifts from the clock's hands and the calendar's letters and numbers to a panoramic outside view of the world around me and an understanding of my part in it.
until then, i'll wait.
our apartment is tiny, well, tiny compared to what we're used to and what our furniture has accustomed itself to. everything inside of our miniature dwelling is holding its breath--holding out for an opportunity to relax without faltering and falling into a chaotic mess.
our life, too, seems to have shrunken in relation to the lives of those around us. i am working, though not enough, as is jay (more than enough), but there seems to be a lot of empty space in my internal view of how things should be. i'm bored and unchallenged and, in turn, i feel useless and uninteresting. we have few friends in this place that has, from afar, always seemed so familiar and comfortable, yet is now a mere symbol of our displaced minds. the friends we do have are either busy with their own bloated lives or have (in the case of a singular female) tried--and nearly succeeded--to tear us apart and have since disappeared from our field of vision. our education is on hold until washington residency has been established and our hobbies lie untouched in an abstract corner or buried beneath clothing and various accessories in our closet.
i'm giving it time. i'm waiting it out. i'm holding on for the fall, when reason tells me that all will fall into place (all except for our furniture, unless we are able to make the move downtown within the next six months). in the fall i WILL resume my education. i WILL have made a few friends and will continue meeting new ones. by then i WILL be well on my way to becoming a world class musician after having excavated my viola, dusted it off, and--in turn--allowed it to wipe the dust from my fingers, my arms, and the right side of my brain.
in time i will find my niche here and fall into it. by then i will have found comfort in this place that i once called home. until then i'll sit, furrowed brow, chin in palm, and wait for the clock to tick, the sun to rise and fall, rise and fall, and rise and fall again until my attention shifts from the clock's hands and the calendar's letters and numbers to a panoramic outside view of the world around me and an understanding of my part in it.
until then, i'll wait.