"Its been a fortnight..." a friend who lives in England wrote yesterday, inquiring how I've been.
How have I been?
I've been miserable and hopeless, hate-filled and snarky. I've been joy-filled and spontaneous and I've been on a tear to re-organize, re-purpose and most of all reduce in the way of giving away clothes and books and whatever I can get my hands on. I've imposed a 24 hour delay upon myself; my desire and impulsiveness have led to the misplacing, (and I fear thrown out), of a few things that I'd love to find right about now, but have resigned myself to being gone.
I've been feeling good about how I look, almost to the point of letting it go to my head, which is why I'm writing it here. Saying it out loud brings me back to reality and while I have lost weight, (and inches!!), it isn't just about my body. I've been walking into my closet and opening my drawers, looking at each and every thing that I have and asking myself, 'is this my style statement?" Life is short and I feel like I gave up on myself and feeling good and I'm done with that.
I haven't cried much which is surprising. And when the tears have come, they barely reach my cheek before they're dried; even my tears are trying to continue forward.
I'm a raw nub and I'm numb. There's a truth to my conversations, a need to speak about something intense/heavy/unspoken, just so I can feel that zing, something, anything other than anger and annoyance and heavy blues.
I've never been more clear about myself and my boundaries and I'm so alone, even though I'm not lonely. I'm guarded and needy and I'm ready.
So ready, for anything.
