THE OTHER SIDE OF SOMETHING
Here I am, happy. A pot of soup on the stove, its broth bubbling and vegetables becoming more tender with every minute I dawdle over the laundry, the bookshelves, these words. Somehow in the past few weeks I've begun to feel more like myself than I have in months, maybe even a year.
I blame the long hours at work, the huge transitions, the adjustment to a life of Monday - Friday. I blame the break up, the scattering of friends, the uneven path that led to new love and sweetness. I blame myself, and others, and then no one at all.
Standing on the other side of something, I'm struck by the kind of absence of feeling you only notice once you get it back. The kind of change that hits you upside the head, and then elbows you playfully for the rest of the day so as not to be lost. So here I am, happy, and here I am, arrived.
I blame the long hours at work, the huge transitions, the adjustment to a life of Monday - Friday. I blame the break up, the scattering of friends, the uneven path that led to new love and sweetness. I blame myself, and others, and then no one at all.
Standing on the other side of something, I'm struck by the kind of absence of feeling you only notice once you get it back. The kind of change that hits you upside the head, and then elbows you playfully for the rest of the day so as not to be lost. So here I am, happy, and here I am, arrived.