Peekaboo
It's been so long since I've sat in my bed with a little cat draped over my lap (and my right arm and also my hand) and written anything that wasn't just work-related. Ten thousand somewhat pointless e-mails and many, many days later, I wonder: is there only space for words in my life when the shadows outweigh the light?
Writing was once the only place I had that felt like mine, that felt like home. This place and my strange assortment of friends, known and unknown all at once, was the one thing I really felt that I could rely upon. I loved the fiction of it all, of course, but I also believe that we write great truths about ourselves between the lines of the stories we weave.
The scientist tells me I am strong and brave, that I am a fighter, a survivor. (Sound like anyone we know?) This year has been a fight in lots of ways, but I am well, and the tide is turning, mostly. After a year of looking for steady work, I am finally, finally, finally in a place where I think I can pay all of my bills and put a little bit away. I have a home that I love, and better than that, I have a thriving community of genuine friends and compatriots that actually live nearby. Across town, down the street, downstairs. I love them terribly. I never had space for such a community with the ex. Asshole. The scientist was, and remains, a major, major upgrade.
The holidays approach and I dread them. Things got very complicated and very ugly between my brother and I back in January, and as a result, everything has shifted to the point where I am strongly considering not going home for Christmas. To say that I am angry about this is an understatement of tremendous proportion, but I know with every fiber of who I am that I am handling everything with as much grace and compassion that I have, and I don't think I can do better than I am doing about it all. It's a mess, and it's going to break my heart a little bit, no matter what I choose. Thank god I have home, this cat, my lover, my friends...
And you. I know that I am quiet, it's just that I have so little to say (and even less time to say it in, lately). It's been great to spend some time tonight catching up here, reading about where all of you have been and what you have been doing and writing. I do think of you often, truly. I miss our sandbox. I miss your words.
It's a few days early to say so, but I am so thankful for my friends in the ether and endlessly grateful for the positive ways in which you have shaped me.
Writing was once the only place I had that felt like mine, that felt like home. This place and my strange assortment of friends, known and unknown all at once, was the one thing I really felt that I could rely upon. I loved the fiction of it all, of course, but I also believe that we write great truths about ourselves between the lines of the stories we weave.
The scientist tells me I am strong and brave, that I am a fighter, a survivor. (Sound like anyone we know?) This year has been a fight in lots of ways, but I am well, and the tide is turning, mostly. After a year of looking for steady work, I am finally, finally, finally in a place where I think I can pay all of my bills and put a little bit away. I have a home that I love, and better than that, I have a thriving community of genuine friends and compatriots that actually live nearby. Across town, down the street, downstairs. I love them terribly. I never had space for such a community with the ex. Asshole. The scientist was, and remains, a major, major upgrade.
The holidays approach and I dread them. Things got very complicated and very ugly between my brother and I back in January, and as a result, everything has shifted to the point where I am strongly considering not going home for Christmas. To say that I am angry about this is an understatement of tremendous proportion, but I know with every fiber of who I am that I am handling everything with as much grace and compassion that I have, and I don't think I can do better than I am doing about it all. It's a mess, and it's going to break my heart a little bit, no matter what I choose. Thank god I have home, this cat, my lover, my friends...
And you. I know that I am quiet, it's just that I have so little to say (and even less time to say it in, lately). It's been great to spend some time tonight catching up here, reading about where all of you have been and what you have been doing and writing. I do think of you often, truly. I miss our sandbox. I miss your words.
It's a few days early to say so, but I am so thankful for my friends in the ether and endlessly grateful for the positive ways in which you have shaped me.