Tete-a-tete

|Wintering| |all original posts|

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Joined Camp Nanowrimo so I’ve been writing on paper. I haven’t kept up on here, and I feel bad about that. But I’ve had a lot on my mind and just haven’t been keeping up. Going to be honest about that.

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I haven’t kept up writing every day on here. I have written nearly every day on paper- the trouble is transcribing it to my blog. 

Finally gaining clarity on my ‘book.’

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The big snow made Winter’s song feel longer. She breathes sharply and up my sleeves there’s a perpetual chill I cannot shake. The icy rays pierce the small space between the branches, casting even longer shapes.

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Dreamt I kissed Ron Weasley in a Starbucks. But what does it mean?????

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Today was a difficult day in a few weeks made up of mostly hard days. But I saw the city and she was so pretty. She reminds me of times good and bad - I both hurt and yearn for those days again- and I sometimes wish I could relive them for just a moment so I could remember the fragile days of my youth. They felt so long but they went so fast.

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There are some books that have brought me more comfort than anything anyone else have ever said in their attempt to console me in my darkest times. This book, even after all these years I should have “gotten over it”, gave me the assurance that I’m not the only one that feels these terrible things and I will never get “over it” because it is something that is not meant to be gotten over.

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Exploring the remnants of February after the big fall. My ankles sank into the drift, numbing my toes and I reminisced of the winters of my childhood: My pink cheeks, snow seeping between my mittens and coat sleeves, and the burning cold in my nose.

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The afternoon is a sleepy time, the post rush of daily routines and unexpected chaos. The stillness covers us like an endless blue sky.

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I am dry. I cannot write. As Plath said, “I have nothing to do with explosions.”

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“Wisdom's a gift, but you'd trade it for youth”

Something about the lyrics to this entire album make me sad for a past that’s not mine and the time before I knew I’d have my own past to mourn.

On a side note, I wrote some damn good poetry but I’m not sharing it here because I want to publish it. One day you’ll see my name on a spine on the shelf.

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I know loss far too well. There have been many deaths in the family in the last few years, but my pets have always been there for me. The seem invincable, an ever present companion. We had kitty for 20 years- more years than I dared to pray for. We weren’t ready for her to leave us, but I don’t think we ever would have been ready. Even if you’re expecting death, you’re never ready. Death causes me to reflect on all I’d taken for granted. Too much, too much.

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“I am flushed and warm. I think I may be enormous, I am so stupidly happy, My Wellingtons Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.” It wouldn’t be February 11th without acknowledging her and the poetry that ignited the path I’m on, the words that helped me choose life though she did not.

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I get defensive of this novel. Like most things in life, some people like it and some don’t like it. I’m a strong believer in books coming to you at the time you need them and if you try to read it sooner than that, it won’t be the right. This book was what I needed when I was going through a very confusing and painful (and long) season of life. One I never thought I’d escape: An actual labyrinth of suffering. I wasn’t mad at God, but I was angry with myself, angry at others, angry at the hand I’d been dealt and this novel assured me that that was ok. I wasn’t the “only person who thought and felt such strange and awful things.” I read LFA every year for five years to remind myself that not all questions have answers, that I’ll probably always love the lies of nostalgia, and to forgive the person I was that read it the year previous. “The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.” And I forgive her.

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Snowed a lot today. Justin Timberlake is in town.

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My shelf.

I like looking at their faces and remembering how they made me feel.  Who I was when I read them and who I am now. I believe in books being exactly what you needed in the time that you read them and that is why, even if they’re not great, they’re special because they’re mine.

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Art manifests in many ways. I don’t want to miss it or take anything for granted.

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Did a bit of wandering and it was good for my soul.