freefall: some measure of happiness
Reading The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, (what Alan calls "my porn book," because the review on the back cover is from Playboy), and enjoying it immensely. Father's birthday is next week. I have no ideas. Something on the history of the Great Lakes, I think. That sounds in keeping with his tastes.
Long, long weekend. But beautiful, and loads of fun.
Not looking forward to class again tomorrow. I'd rather curl up with this book and Akron/Family, and not Lights At Sea -- this ridiculously disappointing local band (not my local, West side of the state local) with a delightful cover for their demo EP that is frankly very similar to garbage. I'm being cruel, of course. They're not that bad. (Just a complete let-down.)
Evening was spent watching The Thing and Rocky Horror Picture Show; a good combination if you ask me. Alan made a valiant attempt at recreating one of these dreadful creatures that evolves from this man's head. Let's just say spider legs are involved. Last night was Shine with the lovely Geoffrey Rush and The Exorcist. Even better combination, if you ask me. Katy quoted constantly. Funny faces were made. There was laughter. There was laughter! I can't say I'm used to laughing so much, but I certainly enjoy it.
Spent a good portion of the day reading
alex51324's The Reaching Out One, which is this beautiful EPIC piece of dS fiction. Brava my dear, you brought me to tears. Repeatedly. I would have to stop reading between chapters, and wipe my eyes.
I am in a much better place than I have been in months. I feel stronger. The struggle is still there, and maybe increasing with each day, but I feel as if I have suffered some sort of growth to better prepare me for it. But it's hard to tell when growth occurs; after all you don't just wake up one day and say "Oh, look how I've grown! And oh, I am so very happy!" Something feels different....I have been letting go, if only to prepare myself for the next inevitable freefall.
I remember reading once this story wherein the author proposed the idea that since our bodies are comprised of so much water, and the lunar movements have power over the tides, that our bodies are influenced by the moon. That as the tide is called by the moon, so are we -- the blood rising in our veins at its beckoning.
I don't know what I think of that. But the idea struck me as being such a (for lack of a better word) beautiful thing, and I will keep saying "beautiful," because there is no better word to describe elation and the purity of wonder.
Save me from myself, I'm waxing poetic again.
Going to curl up with a good book, and a blanket and a good ol' Canadian buddy-cop show...and embrace this climbing. Embrace the emptiness as a means to move forward:
letting go is never easy.
I am blessed. I can love. Maybe if I repeat it often enough...maybe if I pretend to believe it often enough well, isn't that the same thing as truly believing it?
"I am waiting under the sun. I am waiting for my time to come."