it's been a long year since we last spoke;
When does life start passing us by...so quickly that we don't see it? It's like standing in the middle of a field, watching the blurred colors of the cars that fly down the highway. We know it's a car, but we can't quite make out the shape, just an idea of what it should be. Does it begin when our life slips through the cracks of our blogs or journals, so seamlessly that we don't know how long it's been since we took a pen to paper or fingers to keys? Or was it always that way and we didn't notice because we were busy documenting our thoughts about an event or just the event itself or even just a random thought that's there then gone, like a moth vanishing into a flame? Run-on sentences and poorly constructed grammar also loses its importance with time or...dare I say it, age.
But I digress...when did my life start running ahead without me? Every time I think about posting here, my mind or my emotions go into a state of white noise, like the static on a television. I hit the mute button but it's still there, scrambled on the screen but still a point of light. I know I'll be back to bring color back to the screen someday, but white noise will suffice for a time...or an age. For those who know me or my journal, you know that I used to live here. For a decade of my life, I was here...in different chairs throughout the years, staring at a screen and trying to make sense of the tangle of my thoughts or just life itself. It used to be so important to me that my fingers would itch with the need to write, to express, to speak. In typing because words have always failed me in my verbal life. Then one day, it stopped. The noise in my brain stopped and I stopped knowing what to say, even here. I was a stranger to my journal, to words, two things that were the bread of my existence for so long. But the catch is, life didn't stop. It just kept leaping ahead and I was dragging my feet in the mud, trying to follow it.
So is it age that makes us stop writing these entries or is it a loss of intellect? For me, it's a combination of the two. After I graduated from college, my words kind of stopped. I work with clients I love (Rufus and Trinh in particular) and they bring a meaning to my life that wasn't there before. I've grown closer to God and I wouldn't trade that for anything. I have the love and support of my mother, a constant in my life. I share my room with a little orange cat named Tucker (have I even mentioned him before?). I am loved in ways I never thought possible and didn't really expect. But then, there's that flip-side. Everything isn't perfect or easy, but when is it? I've watched my grandpa decline mentally while my grandma has declined physically. It's a constant source of grief and I struggle with varying bouts of depression and frustration (about the whole situation and about me in my work environment--co-workers not clients). And there's life on the side, galloping ahead and it feels like all this began yesterday, not two years ago. No desire for sympathy, just expression. This is me and maybe it's the beginning of my life here again? I hope so.
But I digress...when did my life start running ahead without me? Every time I think about posting here, my mind or my emotions go into a state of white noise, like the static on a television. I hit the mute button but it's still there, scrambled on the screen but still a point of light. I know I'll be back to bring color back to the screen someday, but white noise will suffice for a time...or an age. For those who know me or my journal, you know that I used to live here. For a decade of my life, I was here...in different chairs throughout the years, staring at a screen and trying to make sense of the tangle of my thoughts or just life itself. It used to be so important to me that my fingers would itch with the need to write, to express, to speak. In typing because words have always failed me in my verbal life. Then one day, it stopped. The noise in my brain stopped and I stopped knowing what to say, even here. I was a stranger to my journal, to words, two things that were the bread of my existence for so long. But the catch is, life didn't stop. It just kept leaping ahead and I was dragging my feet in the mud, trying to follow it.
So is it age that makes us stop writing these entries or is it a loss of intellect? For me, it's a combination of the two. After I graduated from college, my words kind of stopped. I work with clients I love (Rufus and Trinh in particular) and they bring a meaning to my life that wasn't there before. I've grown closer to God and I wouldn't trade that for anything. I have the love and support of my mother, a constant in my life. I share my room with a little orange cat named Tucker (have I even mentioned him before?). I am loved in ways I never thought possible and didn't really expect. But then, there's that flip-side. Everything isn't perfect or easy, but when is it? I've watched my grandpa decline mentally while my grandma has declined physically. It's a constant source of grief and I struggle with varying bouts of depression and frustration (about the whole situation and about me in my work environment--co-workers not clients). And there's life on the side, galloping ahead and it feels like all this began yesterday, not two years ago. No desire for sympathy, just expression. This is me and maybe it's the beginning of my life here again? I hope so.