Illumination
I have never lived anywhere with wind that bites, scrapes against your face leaving angry red impressions. The pools of blood brightening beneath pale cheeks; letting us know that we are still alive, reminding us of warmer days and heavy blankets. It slices through warm coats, up loose pant cuffs, gnawing at exposed fingertips. My nose screams rosy protests.
Washington has not lived up the measure of rain that they say falls here. The sky is often tired and sad, like a once regal woman staring into her weathered face. Not sure whether to let the water works stream steadily along or to push onward, never really looking, never really seeing. I sit on my stoop smoking cigarettes, the smell lingering far after my last puff. I hate the way my fingers drag through my hair, wiping all the trace remnants from hand to shine. I went three days without the burn down my throat, every two hours talking myself out of my want. I caved anyway.
The snow fell quickly for the first time this season, a fiasco of flakes swirling and twirling around me. As the flakes fell they instantly melted upon me and the people started to emerge from their houses. Make shift snow pants and musty mittens desperately trying to roll snow men, throw snow balls. I have never seen so many people outside of my apartment complex at the same time. As I sat and cursed the sudden dumping of snow I had to appreciate the excitement, the bright cheeks, even the puppies scampering through it for their first time. I took that moment, I enjoyed it for these flat landers.
The last month flew by in a frenzy of faces and places; tip toeing my way through new meetings and casual encounters. What my CA life would supposedly be, all crammed into thirty two days. There's me; trying desperately to dance in time with everyone, but, my time ran out and I am back… *home. It's strange how things communicate themselves to be true. In my mind "home" *was Pollock Pines. Our small cozy home, animals lingering on couches, people randomly appearing to say hello. But. As I spent my time there I realized that it's my parents home; one that I was part of in past terms, am still part of in memory - spoken of almost as if I have died. I have made a different home for myself some where else. My life is torn between Alaska and where-ever-else I end up.
Alaska always lingers there in the background; my room mate and I talk about it longingly, exchanging tidbits of new gossip and re-living moments through each other. I am thankful that we have each other to talk to about it; it literally is like the rest of the world does not understand.
And why would they?
Spending time with all of my people was exactly what I needed to want to go and hide back away. Part of me wishes that I could be there for the longevity of it all; is that the right word? I miss the ebb and flow of the tides that happen there and in turn they miss most of my little defining moments. I am coming to appreciate the people that I have here though, to stop and to appreciate what is in front of my face.
I have always had this problem of trying to look too far beyond what is right in front of my face. I miss out on a lot of *moments because I want to know how things play out in the broad spectrum of things.
I don't like resolutions. I often don't even participate in my mind; but inevitably the onslaught of the FB posts made me consider a few things for myself. Not just for this year, but for myself I am going to take a step back from my constant consideration. I need to appreciate and see situations for what they are; not what I want them to be, not what I think they are, to stop romanticizing everything and then being disappointed that I was the only one with rose colored glasses. Focus on going back to the fundamentals of what make me up as a person, to take pride in what I thrive in and to dedicate more time to the things that make me, me.
Reading. Writing. Learning. Striving to know more, be more, try more. I wonder in the back of my mind if smoking pot dampened these previously fierce parts of my personality. I wonder if drinking killed my inquisitive side. I know that my vices certainly dampened my anger, my lust my hurt and in turn I have turned…. quiet. Numb. It was easier to feel nothing than to have no one else understand how much was going on *in me.
Most of the emotions that I used to *create, well - I just wanted them to shut up.
So for years I have been crushing my voice, and I'm tired of that. I have cut my drinking down to socially with friends, I rarely can afford to smoke anymore. I hope that in recognizing what I was doing I can make the necessary changes to fucking… speak up again.
I miss talking through things with myself, that glorious sadness that can illuminate our behaviors, that intoxicating happiness that can so easily over take and help guide you. How when you aren't numb to it all it can over take you, wash over you, literally sweep you away.
Aside my obvious vices I think back to when I was young and instead of smoking/drinking I used "love" as a vice. I wanted so badly to be in one of those throw down epic love stories, and maybe I was for a time, but that want is just as unhealthy as my other vices. So now in my later years I certainly long for a partner but I shun the idea whole heartedly. I fear letting people close and I attribute my perpetual singleness to my appearance but deep down I know that emotionally I am not open to being hurt.
I used to not care, but now I am scared. Another resolution for my life-side is to put myself out there, because, well, no one else is going to do it for me. I can't keep hoping that someone will care enough to dig me out of my shell, care enough to see something deeper than the sarcasm and the "bro" facade that I have perfected over the last four years. It's time for me to wake back up.