I need to learn to separate my circumstances from my identity.
Man, that's heavy. Accountable. I like that.
Living is easy with eyes closed,
misunderstanding everything you see....
Now Faith is being sure of what we hope for
and certain of what we do not see.
My dream? Is to be a little more independent. I want more. I need more. I know I say these things quite a bit, but it's exactly how I feel. When I write, I write the words that form in my head. I usually don't edit too much. It is, what it is.
I need to be able to do more on my own.
Even if it means.
(I stopped right there, in my journal.)
More hesitation. Even if it means I have to lose everything all over again. Even if it means more surrender. Do you understand? Even if it means more surrender! Have I reached a plane of understanding? Have the muscles in my mind expanded from a heavy workout? The tore muscles, along with the soreness, means, I have grown stronger.
I will never, ever, ever, lose my identity again. It will change, evolve, emancipate itself once again, but will not bend by the force of another being.
I am in control. That's a great thing. When I don't care about myself, or my body, or mind, I become, LESS. I shake my head, and shiver when I typed that word out. Less.
The evaluation of being less, is so discouraging, it makes me dig harder. My heart beats faster.
It's as if I am meeting my focus, my drive, my boundaries, for the first time again.
In the same breath, it's absolutely, rejuvenating.
I do, need to be pulled out of the bathtub, and told to go to bed. I need direction, even whispered suggestion, pushes me, like a paper boat in the water. A little wind, creates movement.
I don't know how much you all read, but, as you know, I read constantly. I love Vonnegut.
His scope of talent, is one to honor. One, to bend to, if you find a book of his, the last on the shelf. Take it.
His books, leave me in such an arrangement. I could sit in the glow of his words, and burn.
I am in love with my life. With it's potential. With the sparkle.
How I could meet you at the crossroads, at a drop of a hat.
We all envy each other's lives in small ways. Sometimes, the big ways. We compare what one has over the other. I don't care for the most part. I have a car. I sleep in a bed. I am allowed to have my dogs. I eat daily. Hell, I obsess what I eat daily. We all want to change things, situations, in our lives, but, we know it's not in our realm of control. So we wait. Or we die. Or we move on.
Or collaborate with other artists, our friends, our mentors, our sensai's, our partners, and encourage each other.
We admire other's mannerisms, creativity, promise, vision, possessions. I want to lift you up, and I do expect the same amount of push from you too. It makes me so happy, when I can help. The sense of accomplishment, makes us full. Our hearts, our souls, our lust of finding what turns us on.
We need to be each other's stepping stools. Stepping stones. Flights of fancy.
I get caught in "poor little rich girl" facade. It's a dangerous trap to fall into.
Or trusting the person who says, "Trust me."
Don't trust them. Usually the ones who wear cloaks, who have the "too good to be true" pitch, well, Dear Heart, they are too good to be true. We all fall short. But there are horrible people out there. Who do want to hurt you, take advantage of you, confuse you until they wear you down.
I didn't sleep much last night. I took a bath. Which puts me right to bed, left me restless. I'm super itchy, I guess, from healing. I am so far over looking like a leper, and taking this medicine.
Over it. Both boys fed off me last night. I would get up, one of them would get up. I heard Champ in the kitchen, (I was even on Benadryl.) I got up, and whipped him. He was just as aggravated as I was, or so it seemed.
The most amusing part about the poison? Is the flare on my ring finger. The wedding band finger. It's a story of the past. How that realationship couldn't work. How it ultimately ended in demise, and torture, and trouble. My left hand. My ring finger. It makes me laugh.
Why apologize? Or make excuses, for what we love, find humor in, for why we want the "things" we want. It's so much easier to lay blame on what we point our fingers to. (or how we landed there.)
I, am always not forthright with you. Which makes me feel guilty. I feel guilty, because, I don't always tell the back story to everything. I can't.
My friends inspire me mostly. To write.
I am not always talking about myself. Don't get paranoid on me now Soldier, you should smile at those statements. It means, if I may, Sue, use your word, muse.
My life, the people in it, make me better. Even though life feels like a stagnant pond and is overwhelming. Teeming with mosquito's.
My solution? Is to sit in the yard. Try like hell to slow down, and spend time.
My warning? Is to not get hooked on me. I just got started.