A willful suspension of disbelief.
This year, I am steeped in what falling in love for the first time was. It's the shorter days and daylight that does it. Long limbs turned over one another, long blonde hair on both of us, stretched over what was endless afternoons of lying to my mother about where I was, and constantly being late to everything because I couldn't pull myself out of the warm spots where I smiled all the time and forgot discarded articles of clothing in hallways of the apartment. I filled my waiting with long, slow pulls of lips and laid naked above the city in puddles of sunlight. Having my first key to someone else's house. I was seventeen, and couldn't wait for my life to start, anticipating adventure and spontanaeity and wealth and my own family and big cities and accolades.
This year, I am starting to bundle in sweaters and scarves, my hair is getting long. I always end up crazy in the middle of the night and cutting it off, trying to shed nightmares and disappointments, but now I'm getting hopeful. I'm eating more meat, drinking much less, talking more, trying to be fair and thoughtful, keeping my house, making my craft room, going through boxes of documents I couldn't touch for three years. This week, I schedule a polygraph so I can work in the prosecuting attorney's office for Domestic Violence Sexual Assault Services. I'm finding solace in the quiet things, finishing a knitting project I started a year ago, paying bills ahead of time, even if it leaves me with no money for a week, taking reading suggestions and finding them to be exactly what I need at the time, cooking breakfast for a friend this morning to soak up election night celebration booze, sometimes talking over one another about elections results by county. Singing even though I don't know the words, and mostly don't care if I hit the notes.
I am scared shitless most of the time, but doing better than I have in years.
This year, I am starting to bundle in sweaters and scarves, my hair is getting long. I always end up crazy in the middle of the night and cutting it off, trying to shed nightmares and disappointments, but now I'm getting hopeful. I'm eating more meat, drinking much less, talking more, trying to be fair and thoughtful, keeping my house, making my craft room, going through boxes of documents I couldn't touch for three years. This week, I schedule a polygraph so I can work in the prosecuting attorney's office for Domestic Violence Sexual Assault Services. I'm finding solace in the quiet things, finishing a knitting project I started a year ago, paying bills ahead of time, even if it leaves me with no money for a week, taking reading suggestions and finding them to be exactly what I need at the time, cooking breakfast for a friend this morning to soak up election night celebration booze, sometimes talking over one another about elections results by county. Singing even though I don't know the words, and mostly don't care if I hit the notes.
I am scared shitless most of the time, but doing better than I have in years.