So I've been wondering where my words went, if I've stopped thinking.
I haven't.
I've been wondering where my rants went, if I stopped caring.
I haven't. And won't. Ever. Despite the openings I leave in my wake for all sorts of sharp-toothed demons.
Life has been continuing apace. I have rediscovered my love of work, sense of accomplishment. My jaded issues, even when parlaying with the dreaded beasts: Corporate Executives, are still issues, but far from insurmountable somehow.
There are stresses galore, and joys galore, and this or that slant of light bouncing from an odd streetcorner still set my imagination ablaze.
I am worried about my heart, but COnnie's comment today at the sight of my beheaded finger "You heal so fast!" instantly tore apart the fears caused by a six-month-long rollerblading bruise from two years ago, now. I'm a good healer. I'm an amazing healer. Attitudes, traumas, physical mishaps, all bounding along with the resilience of a child.
WHich I still am, inside. And all this talk of children, only reminds me to remain that way -- rather than fall into the trap (yet) of sacrificing my whimsy to fears of responsibility.
I need my whimsy. My family needs my whimsy. And yes, part of that family is you.
So why haven't I been barfing my every introspection in blue?
Easy.
The sole outlet for honest communication that this once was, seems to becoming obsolete.
When I need to cry body-wracking sobs, I have somewhere to cry them. When I need to hash out my nightmares, I have someone who will listen to them with sad eyes, and touch my face when I am finished. When I am filled with a joy so brilliant that the universe is too dazzling to look at with the naked eye, I have a face that reflects it back at me in a way that I am learning to understand, to trust.
There are still issues. THere are still worries and insecurities. There always will.
But they are less frightening, and every scream is swiftly learning to be followed by an apology. I am learning. We are learning.
The nightmare of these past decades is healing. The nightmare of my own crimes, is slowly healing. I am changing.
And I still yearn to write. And I still have my manic moments wherein I neglect the excited tumble of words.
I still love you. Always will.
But I cannot use you as a mundane update of random thoughts, that's what a livejournal blog is for. Go ahead and link it.
I cannot use you as a way to keep in touch anymore, time is short and the need to purge no longer great enough. That's what a long distance plan is for, as I learn to use it on the long stretches of Toronto traffic.
I want to be here. I want to speak. I want to laugh and dream in syllables.
I do.
But not as often anymore.
Am I leaving diaryland? I don't know. I don't have a particular urge to.
Am I writing less here? Yes. BEcause I have a community that I have learned to accept, rather than run away from at the slightest indication of love.
Is Dave the most significant part of that community? Yes.
Are you a significant part of that community? Yes, still.
Am I apologizing? Maybe. DO you think I should?
Am I still getting married? Yes. Are the wedding plans coming along? No. There is a lot of thinking to do, and this weekend is a rare beast in that there are no dinners, trips, construction projects planned. Perhaps the results will be a brand of stress put temporarily to rest, perhaps it will heighten the excitement. Either way it will be wonderful.
Am I more excited about adding to our family? With each passing day.
Am I "preggers"? Not for a while yet. Are we being premature? I don't think so.
Are there still significant events in each of my days?
So many.
Watching a child-fearing friend break down and join the tickle fight, and realize that nobody can continute to hate children forever.
Hearing those fateful words from my boss "you are the best person that I have ever worked with. I can trust you with anything."
The way my assistant has started booking meetings into my calendar that say "eat" and "sit at your desk" until I learn to say no for myself.
The way light burns in through the new windows, the way the dining room looks with the plants arranged that way.
The way food leaves marks on the new dishes, that disappear in the wash.
The way I've forgotten to focus on buying a new car.
The way no one has allowed me to forget to laugh.
And I could go on, I guess, so there is plenty to write -- but so many days are so filled
and I don't need to quite so desperately,
THat I don't as much.