Post Two Hundred and Twelve: The Organic.

This period in my life feels alien.

Some days I can't break out of my own thoughts and I'm all consumed in a battle to feel better. Stronger. More connected. Less stressed. Then there's other days, sometimes flowing in succession, in which I am a detached onlooker of my behaviours. This period of observation exposes how easy it can be to ruminate in resentment and dejection.

I'm arrogantly absorbed by these things, these feelings that have no relevance to how strong I am, how much stress I place onto or absorb from others, or how connected I am to the world around me.

I have more information about myself than I have ever had before. I'm 28. I know shit. At least shit about how I function best. And I know that I don't know even more about the actual world than how much I think I know.

It's another new good start. I want to learn and love and stay steady in the ebb and the flow of those two pulses.

This is not alien. This drive is as organic to life as the salt is to the surf.

Post Two Hundred and Eleven: Roll On.

A perfect* gentleman entered and exited my life, romantically speaking, and I'd probably let him do it all again.

I was sure that I'd be able to record our days together, our quiet work nights in and our noisy weekends out. There was something intrinsically supportive born in the early days of our relationship that made me feel dynamic and inspired, and even though I was reluctant to settle into monogamy I felt so swiftly bewitched by his perspective. And those eyes. The way his hair sometimes fell across his face and called to my hand like a magnet. The exemplary steering wheel percussion. The Seinfeld Sessions. The.....fuck.......the almost everything.

You know what the Rolling Stones say. You can't always get what you want.

I wanted more than what I could have. Within reason, but without a basis in reality.

In retrospect I can see that I wasted more time in being consumed with the fear of losing the relationship than I did in actually enjoying it. Circumstances changed but the contract couldn't. I was like a fat woman and a packet of twinkies; it was comforting but we were just no good for each other. That and twinkies can't actually sustain you.

I cried like a fucking child for days because I guess we just don't go into these things thinking that they will fail. Especially at an age where people are having children, not acting like them.

And unrequited love is just sad.

I'm ok. I really hope he is. I also hope that he doesn't think that I want to eat him.

Peace. x







*Perfect, with discretional allowances.