thoughts on a sunday morning
I just realized that next year, Scott and I will have been together 20 years. That will officially mark the moment when I will be with him longer than I was without him. I don't feel that old, but I guess no one does. Time passes us by but it never feels like it does.
I saw my hands in a mirror the other day, and they look so old, so work. The lines, creases, they look foreign to me, like I was looking at someone else's hands. It's only in moments like those, and it's always with my hands for some reason, that I remember how old I really am. And I know I'm not that old, that's not the point. The point is we forget, I forget, how old I actually am. And even literally, I often forget how old I am. I can say I am thirtysomething, but I have to think about what year it is, what month it is, to give my exact age.
I turn 38 this year. Indy turns 6 in two months. Six. A little boy, growing up. A women, me, growing older. We will never have other kids. We will never grow younger. Time marches on.
When Indy got old enough to watch tv, I made a decision. To turn the tv off. I know it's a bit controvercial and not for everyone. But that's what I did. Not everyone in the house was fond of this new rule, but we all learned to live with it. Well to clarify, the tv could go on when the boy went to bed, or to watch one educational children's show.
I was expwcting it to be hard. I was expecting to miss it. I was expecting to turn it on every moment he wasn't there. But that's not what happened. I grew to enjoy having it off. I don't think about it, I don't wonder what's on, I don't care. Yes I watch some stuff at night, my shows, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Justified, Community, Burn Notice, and some others. But having the tv on in the background, I just don't want that anymore.
After years of not thinking about music, I have started listening to the radio. After years of reading intermitantly, I have started reading again, started looking for new authors again. And the other thing, the thing that's hard to explain. I have always been the kind of person that spends a lot of time in my own head. And as my time gets gobbled up by all the other things that demand my attention, there is less and less time to just think, to let long trains of thought run free.
I use to write in a journal. In college I use to go out late at night to the football field and just think, or talk to myself, or yell at the moon. I actually can't even remember exactly what I did there anymore.
Then there was open mike poetry night, where Scott and I met. And I grew to enjoy, or need that sense of community, that sense of mutual understanding. For my words, my thoughts to be heard. And then there was livejournal. And for years that was my place. And now, with so many fewer people, it's hard to write on there/here because the lack of interaction is a reminder of everything missing, everything I use to love about it, gone. And then I emailed. And email is great. But I find myself not doing it as much as I once did. And I can't pinpoint why.
It's like I started updating facebook more and started texting more. And there is a bacj and forth in that, more conversation like, more immediate. But the long trains of thought don't translate do they? This started as a facebook update and then as I realized I had more to say I changed my mind, made myself make the time. Time when I should be getting ready for cooking easter dinner.And maybe that's the key. Maybe none of it matters besides making the time. Making myself take the time.
Scott makes fun of me for where I sit to type or to read. There is this spot, I am there right now. Sitting on Indy's kitchen sink stepstool. My back against the sink, my feet propped across against the oven. It isn't comfortable, My butt is at this moment very close to falling asleep. But what it is, is mine. And I am short, and most of the time no one even notices I am here. And I can take a moment or two or twelve.And if no one sees me, amybe they don't think of me, and if they don't think of me, maybe they don't ask me for anything. Maybe they can find other things to do to amuse themselves, and I can have my moment.
And I look up and realize I have been here for thirty minute, longer than I intended. But maybe it's what I needed. Even if no one reads. Even if everyone reads but no one comments. It doesn't matter. What matters is taking the time. Me taking the time. Me honoring what I need or want or have or hope or love or hate or feel.
I have always been like this, and I always will be. People don't change. People are who they are. Behavior can change, words can change, life can change. But we are who we are. We are who we are. You are who you are. I am who I am. And that is enough for me. That is enough for me.
I saw my hands in a mirror the other day, and they look so old, so work. The lines, creases, they look foreign to me, like I was looking at someone else's hands. It's only in moments like those, and it's always with my hands for some reason, that I remember how old I really am. And I know I'm not that old, that's not the point. The point is we forget, I forget, how old I actually am. And even literally, I often forget how old I am. I can say I am thirtysomething, but I have to think about what year it is, what month it is, to give my exact age.
I turn 38 this year. Indy turns 6 in two months. Six. A little boy, growing up. A women, me, growing older. We will never have other kids. We will never grow younger. Time marches on.
When Indy got old enough to watch tv, I made a decision. To turn the tv off. I know it's a bit controvercial and not for everyone. But that's what I did. Not everyone in the house was fond of this new rule, but we all learned to live with it. Well to clarify, the tv could go on when the boy went to bed, or to watch one educational children's show.
I was expwcting it to be hard. I was expecting to miss it. I was expecting to turn it on every moment he wasn't there. But that's not what happened. I grew to enjoy having it off. I don't think about it, I don't wonder what's on, I don't care. Yes I watch some stuff at night, my shows, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Justified, Community, Burn Notice, and some others. But having the tv on in the background, I just don't want that anymore.
After years of not thinking about music, I have started listening to the radio. After years of reading intermitantly, I have started reading again, started looking for new authors again. And the other thing, the thing that's hard to explain. I have always been the kind of person that spends a lot of time in my own head. And as my time gets gobbled up by all the other things that demand my attention, there is less and less time to just think, to let long trains of thought run free.
I use to write in a journal. In college I use to go out late at night to the football field and just think, or talk to myself, or yell at the moon. I actually can't even remember exactly what I did there anymore.
Then there was open mike poetry night, where Scott and I met. And I grew to enjoy, or need that sense of community, that sense of mutual understanding. For my words, my thoughts to be heard. And then there was livejournal. And for years that was my place. And now, with so many fewer people, it's hard to write on there/here because the lack of interaction is a reminder of everything missing, everything I use to love about it, gone. And then I emailed. And email is great. But I find myself not doing it as much as I once did. And I can't pinpoint why.
It's like I started updating facebook more and started texting more. And there is a bacj and forth in that, more conversation like, more immediate. But the long trains of thought don't translate do they? This started as a facebook update and then as I realized I had more to say I changed my mind, made myself make the time. Time when I should be getting ready for cooking easter dinner.And maybe that's the key. Maybe none of it matters besides making the time. Making myself take the time.
Scott makes fun of me for where I sit to type or to read. There is this spot, I am there right now. Sitting on Indy's kitchen sink stepstool. My back against the sink, my feet propped across against the oven. It isn't comfortable, My butt is at this moment very close to falling asleep. But what it is, is mine. And I am short, and most of the time no one even notices I am here. And I can take a moment or two or twelve.And if no one sees me, amybe they don't think of me, and if they don't think of me, maybe they don't ask me for anything. Maybe they can find other things to do to amuse themselves, and I can have my moment.
And I look up and realize I have been here for thirty minute, longer than I intended. But maybe it's what I needed. Even if no one reads. Even if everyone reads but no one comments. It doesn't matter. What matters is taking the time. Me taking the time. Me honoring what I need or want or have or hope or love or hate or feel.
I have always been like this, and I always will be. People don't change. People are who they are. Behavior can change, words can change, life can change. But we are who we are. We are who we are. You are who you are. I am who I am. And that is enough for me. That is enough for me.