Reaction to a calling out
Kymba: You seem to strive for some perfection in communication on livejournal. It's meant to be imperfect, you. It's LIVEJOURNAL.
This is true. very true. It keeps me from posting so often when I log in and start to write a post that never becomes a post. Results are highly infrequent posts that seem to me to be very not hitting of any semblance of point that I may or may not be trying to make.
I never have much of an idea as to who bothers to read my posts. One would think that would be helpful towards not caring about how and what I write here, but for some reason, it isn't. Among the thoughts that interdict my typing are, "Well, which one(s) of my estranged and current friends will catch this post? Better make sure this one makes a certain amount of point and/or sense. On second thought..."
I've been going in and out of loops and spirals inside my head trying to compute the fact that I'm in the process of overhauling my life by going with friends out into the woods of Colorado for more than a month. Yesterday, I took my packed up surplus life and hauled it six hours up toward the parentalhome in Maryland. Those six hours on the road helped me remember how I feel so much better when I'm on the road. I feel clearer, freer. Ever since I discovered my like for meandering, I've felt that when I stay in one location too long, my residual energies build up in that location like so much soot clogging a chimney. I begin to lose clarity and make a discrete (not always) mess of myself.
A simple six hours on a familiar road gave me time to soak in the fine act of careening. Gave me time to think about things like the love I seem to have acquired in a location I was planning on detaching from. There have been times where I have thought that this love has been the best thing to happen to me in more whiles than I can recall, and there have been times where I have considered it an obstacle toward giving myself the ability to be free to land wherever this summer wind tries to take me. This is difficult territory to navigate. It would be so much harder if Kymba, the source of this profound love, wasn't so supportive in this whole thing. Lesser human females wouldn't have put up with me and all of this.
I find myself wanting to land back in Greensboro after the summer now. At first, this was incredibly repulsive an idea, but not so much anymore. At the same time, I know that I have absolutely no idea what will happen in Colorado. I cannot predict what, if any, inspirations will come my way. So while I am content with the idea of returning to Greensboro, I cannot in any way say that it will happen. Pretty much any question about the future for me is met with the response of, "I don't know." Scary. But scary in an adventure sense of the way.
This is true. very true. It keeps me from posting so often when I log in and start to write a post that never becomes a post. Results are highly infrequent posts that seem to me to be very not hitting of any semblance of point that I may or may not be trying to make.
I never have much of an idea as to who bothers to read my posts. One would think that would be helpful towards not caring about how and what I write here, but for some reason, it isn't. Among the thoughts that interdict my typing are, "Well, which one(s) of my estranged and current friends will catch this post? Better make sure this one makes a certain amount of point and/or sense. On second thought..."
I've been going in and out of loops and spirals inside my head trying to compute the fact that I'm in the process of overhauling my life by going with friends out into the woods of Colorado for more than a month. Yesterday, I took my packed up surplus life and hauled it six hours up toward the parentalhome in Maryland. Those six hours on the road helped me remember how I feel so much better when I'm on the road. I feel clearer, freer. Ever since I discovered my like for meandering, I've felt that when I stay in one location too long, my residual energies build up in that location like so much soot clogging a chimney. I begin to lose clarity and make a discrete (not always) mess of myself.
A simple six hours on a familiar road gave me time to soak in the fine act of careening. Gave me time to think about things like the love I seem to have acquired in a location I was planning on detaching from. There have been times where I have thought that this love has been the best thing to happen to me in more whiles than I can recall, and there have been times where I have considered it an obstacle toward giving myself the ability to be free to land wherever this summer wind tries to take me. This is difficult territory to navigate. It would be so much harder if Kymba, the source of this profound love, wasn't so supportive in this whole thing. Lesser human females wouldn't have put up with me and all of this.
I find myself wanting to land back in Greensboro after the summer now. At first, this was incredibly repulsive an idea, but not so much anymore. At the same time, I know that I have absolutely no idea what will happen in Colorado. I cannot predict what, if any, inspirations will come my way. So while I am content with the idea of returning to Greensboro, I cannot in any way say that it will happen. Pretty much any question about the future for me is met with the response of, "I don't know." Scary. But scary in an adventure sense of the way.