There are these times...
So there are these times where I'm reminded of pre-me me. Like when I think about learning to play harmonica with (what was his name again? the old guy?) at Fat Matt's. Or the many nights of open mic at the Red Light Cafe, playing mad lib poetry with strangers and friends, and strangers who would become friends, having smuggled in chocolate milk (read: Bailey's) for my coffee. Or the house concerts. The regular music baths at Eddie's Attic. Or my life as a war criminal, having led a gummy bear genocide at the Waffle House in the wee hours with co-conspirators. An ohhhh the Halloween bashes... I have happy thoughts of the year I dressed as a tree of life. Interning for the FBI. Driving cross-country in a Ryder truck with a guy I had only known via email. Then there were Dragoncons, Buffyfests and Buffett shows, back when my belly was worthy of a belly ring, before motherhood and metabolism took their toll. Back when I felt larger than life, wielded the world on my pen, waxed poetic and nonsensical and it all seemed beautiful (except for the too-frequent parts when I'd let my pursuit of some romantic interest screw things up, at which point I just had more fodder for poems - and hey, they each contributed to who I am today, so thanks and all, you wonderful sweet jerks).
I remember feeling wild and peaceful, never content but always open, if not too open. Always committed but never committing. Chasing intimacy, flirting with laughter.
So at times I think about that person as if she were gone.
But she's not.
She's still there. She still creeps up and glues stuff on my cars, or plants flowers in toilets in my yard.
From time to time someone will poke her with a stick or an elbow: "Hey you! I know you're in there! Come out and play!"
So here she is visiting LiveJournal, her old stomping ground - like a dog walking in circles over and over again to find just the right spot to lie down. This is where pre-me me comes to remember... things. And to be grateful not only for where I've been, but for what I've learned and who I continue to become. VERY different, yet underneath it all much the same. Thanks for the reminder.
I remember feeling wild and peaceful, never content but always open, if not too open. Always committed but never committing. Chasing intimacy, flirting with laughter.
So at times I think about that person as if she were gone.
But she's not.
She's still there. She still creeps up and glues stuff on my cars, or plants flowers in toilets in my yard.
From time to time someone will poke her with a stick or an elbow: "Hey you! I know you're in there! Come out and play!"
So here she is visiting LiveJournal, her old stomping ground - like a dog walking in circles over and over again to find just the right spot to lie down. This is where pre-me me comes to remember... things. And to be grateful not only for where I've been, but for what I've learned and who I continue to become. VERY different, yet underneath it all much the same. Thanks for the reminder.