April 7

I’m writing again.

Why?

I’ve got something that I want to say.

 

We all get those days when we feel angry and grumpy and horrible about ourselves and our lives. Like failures. Am I right?

Maybe there are those few lucky ones who always feel amazing about themselves and they’re lives; and I am truly happy for those few people…

Being happy/content is what we all strive for. It is the soul reason we do all things in life. It is the reason we do everything.

It is why we dress, get up at 5 in the morning to go run 10 miles, why we work hard, why we so badly want to be accepted by others. It is all so that we can accept ourselves.

Maybe its because we value ourselves so highly that any life short of perfection is lacking; or, we value ourselves so little that no matter what we do, we will never be good enough. I like the first option better, it makes more sense. Besides, it’s nice to think highly of myself. It’s nice striving for high things. It makes you feel worthy of  something. 

In some sense I know exactly what I want to do with my life, but I have aimed so utterly high that I have no idea how to reach it.  It is terrifying; knowing that you don’t quite fit in to the life that you have envisioned for yourself (not yet), yet knowing it is the only life that you could ever possibly accept for yourself. It is a fear.

It is mostly that fear that is keeping me from becoming, and growing, who I wish to be…fear is the only thing holding me back, the thing that I need to get rid of. Easier said than done.

“Life begins on the other side of fear.” (Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.)

Where do we begin? What do I do today to eventually get where I want to be?

Finish writing this, clean out my closet, walk my dog, smile…

I’ve only ever been seriously addicted to one thing in my life. Something very lame. And this thing has sent me through numerous depressions, pig outs, month long slumbers, rage and becoming an utter couch potato. Naturally, without this, I’m a go getter, hands on, happy person that actually has the potential to do something with her life.At least, I hope so.

This thing can be put on a screen of a computer, a tablet, a cellphone…nope, not a cellphone. It’s not technology, and its not social media, not pornography (thank God)!

Its simply looking at other peoples lives.

The real thing is, I know the solution to my “problem”; just pick up a book. Read it. Just get it together, that’s what I tell myself. “Just do it!”

On the other side I think that I fear my dreams. That life that I envision for myself. It is unfamiliar. We all fear the unfamiliar. We fear the things that we don’t know and understand. But if we could overcome that fear, imagine just how utterly significant our  lives could be. We could go to the end of space (literally)!

Sometimes it is hard to have friends that are successful and happy and already have everything sorted out. They don’t mean harm, but it is horrible realizing that your life is not what you want it to be, and having no idea how to get out of it.

But maybe its good. The realization of dissatisfaction could help to get you to do what needs to be done.

After all, its better than the alternative, the alternative being sitting on your couch in your pyjamas looking at an alien tree discovering that the leaves blowing in the wind looks just like ribbons!

 

 

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Withered

I haven’t written anything poem in a few months over a year ago, but somehow I found these…still somewhere on the edges of my mind. I’ll dedicate it, like a song or a novel, but not to someone. I dedicate this to all those bad days. The depression days. The days of feeling sad. The days of feeling like a failure. The days when you are a failure.

To all the bad days. Bring me back.

I’m on a spree.

A zone of pure energy.

One day I shall look back,

old and withered,

and if I don’t live now,

I will be envious of my youth.

Of the life that now cling to my cheeks.

I will ponder over all the days,

those that simply went by,

those lost ad edge of memory,

and that of insignificance.

I will wonder where all those brilliant ideas had gone.

Where all those loves had drifted to.

Whatever happened to my broken hearts?

Where are the words on paper.

Where are all the misery that they inspired.

Where did all those dark thoughts go?

I will be withered

with old age

and years gone by.

And life will not merely have passed me by.

April 1

In the next (probably 3) 2 months Eli and I would have moved twice. Right now we are in the process of moving in to our temporary home. Oppose to what? ..all homes are temporary.

Yesterday (and the day before that) we physically moved in with our basic necessities, but today I started packing up the heavy shit.

Its surprising how much crap you keep without even realizing that you’re storing junk.

I had this large blue chest in my room in my parents house, I’ve always stores everything in there. Old books, photographs, bags, old t shirts…all in the hope of using these things again someday. I’m not a sentimental person, I threw everything out, except a shoe box full of old family photographs, my “the matrix” bag, a moon bag (for hikes…) and two empty notebooks (love these!). This however didn’t even take up one tenth of the space in the old, blue, treasure chest.

I’ll be moving my furniture (like the blue chest and a kitchen cabinet) over the weekend. Along with all my cooking books, coffee machine and the rest of my clothing (after I packed them). I still have to sort through my entire closet.

Besides moving I’ve been trying to teach my puppy (Eli) some manners…and boundaries, and I’ve been working and pre-working on an new food adventure/project that I’m starting up soon.

It’s funny, these dates, I just realized I moved out exactly the same date that I officially finished with Cambridge.

March 31

Being a writer is like being married, the writer being married to her/his writing. Some has good marriages…all of them has its ups and downs, the rough patches. We get separated and abandon our kids- the produce of our work. Although some of us are terrible at it, its still a commitment. Till death do us part…maybe even for whatever comes after. I’m not thinking modern world where everyone gets divorced.

I haven’t written in a long time, not here anyway. Perhaps because my emotions and my life has been a crazy, spiralling, neat mess as of late.

So its the last day of March. The May house is still not done (my house), it is roofless at the moment. Bared to the early Autumn rains, but it will survive. I know the roof pieces will be coming today. Its Thursday. There is no rush now.

Me and Eli (my dog) had decided to move in to my brothers old place. And although it looks like a painted piece of mud, surrounded by mile long grass and alien trees, it provides the solitude that we desired. Its only temporary, sort of like a little vacation. Some me and Eli time. And writing time. Frankly; I needed to get away from the kitchen/work. Not because I’m tired of work…I just get too consumed by the heat, the smells, the knives, the thrill. I might stay in there forever and not evolve as  normal, balanced person. I would become a sleep deprived, tired, zombie person.

Here are no knives or pans or ovens. No water except for the toilet and the sink in the bathroom. Also, here is no electricity!  Just a little solar light for a few hours at night.