"You're supposed to be making something new"

there's something to write about, on the tip of my fingers, but i'm not quite sure how to pin it down to words.

i think i might be okay now. there's probably a little too much "take me as i am or fuck off" puddling in my wake, and potentially too much focus on light, but i'm not changing either of those states, so the world around me will probably shift to accommodate or i will make it.

work has become insanely boring. i don't want to do this any more. it's a decent wage, wrong me not, for being this bored, and there's paper to move around, but i find myself wondering what comes next. junkyard urges me to go look for something i'll want, something i'll like.

"at the end of the day, when you stop crying." i talk about tears pretty freely in here. i'm not used to crying, i'm not used to letting people see me crying. i'd leak a little for ExA, but until this one, i find myself sobbing like a little kid, no control, no poise. i remember crying like this once in college, in the amphitheater with a woman named rachel trying to comfort me, bawling that i wanted a mom.. not that i wanted my mother, but i wanted the concept. i don't even remember what had set me off, i just remember being surprised i could make that much noise. i've always thought it a sign of weakness (thanks, dad!) to let people see you cry, and light was the first person to take the time to convince me it wasn't manipulative to cry, because i thought if i could keep myself from crying out of concern for my audience, i had the moral obligation so to do.

i'm admitting i cry now, trying to puzzle my way through it. i'm staining my glasses with salt, and i'm letting every little wind move me. and it's no more fun than stuffing everything down inside, but maybe it's growth, and even if it's not growth, it's something new, and that's always a variation on growing.

i'm out each night this week, vintage and elegance and cherished, and then light's back. i've a doctor's appointment each week this month. Dentist, Therapy, ObGyn, Oral Surgeon, Therapy, Endodontist again. I'm sure more will ensue, and i'll trudge through each and every one of them. it appears march will see more reading than other months, since it seems assured there will be a great deal of waiting room time in my future. i need to scrub my floor, and drive to the mall to get my new prescription put in these frames.

i'm liking this time of year more than i normally do. and maybe it's the profusion of plans, the Nields, Great Big Sea, Eddie from Ohio, and the upcoming tattoo, or maybe it's that light and i are in a good place, but i feel less ghosted, less followed by my errors.

"You're supposed to be making something new"

there's something to write about, on the tip of my fingers, but i'm not quite sure how to pin it down to words.

i think i might be okay now. there's probably a little too much "take me as i am or fuck off" puddling in my wake, and potentially too much focus on light, but i'm not changing either of those states, so the world around me will probably shift to accommodate or i will make it.

work has become insanely boring. i don't want to do this any more. it's a decent wage, wrong me not, for being this bored, and there's paper to move around, but i find myself wondering what comes next. junkyard urges me to go look for something i'll want, something i'll like.

"at the end of the day, when you stop crying." i talk about tears pretty freely in here. i'm not used to crying, i'm not used to letting people see me crying. i'd leak a little for ExA, but until this one, i find myself sobbing like a little kid, no control, no poise. i remember crying like this once in college, in the amphitheater with a woman named rachel trying to comfort me, bawling that i wanted a mom.. not that i wanted my mother, but i wanted the concept. i don't even remember what had set me off, i just remember being surprised i could make that much noise. i've always thought it a sign of weakness (thanks, dad!) to let people see you cry, and light was the first person to take the time to convince me it wasn't manipulative to cry, because i thought if i could keep myself from crying out of concern for my audience, i had the moral obligation so to do.

i'm admitting i cry now, trying to puzzle my way through it. i'm staining my glasses with salt, and i'm letting every little wind move me. and it's no more fun than stuffing everything down inside, but maybe it's growth, and even if it's not growth, it's something new, and that's always a variation on growing.

i'm out each night this week, vintage and elegance and cherished, and then light's back. i've a doctor's appointment each week this month. Dentist, Therapy, ObGyn, Oral Surgeon, Therapy, Endodontist again. I'm sure more will ensue, and i'll trudge through each and every one of them. it appears march will see more reading than other months, since it seems assured there will be a great deal of waiting room time in my future. i need to scrub my floor, and drive to the mall to get my new prescription put in these frames.

i'm liking this time of year more than i normally do. and maybe it's the profusion of plans, the Nields, Great Big Sea, Eddie from Ohio, and the upcoming tattoo, or maybe it's that light and i are in a good place, but i feel less ghosted, less followed by my errors.