Not sure why I didn’t post this on April 14, when I wrote it. I finished it and everything? Maybe I was scared to be so raw. I don’t feel that way now. Also, reading back on this I’m so glad to have lost my job. Just feels a little bit easier to not have people relying on me in such a big way at the moment.
Here it is. That creative flow that I’ve been waiting to hit me. I am stuck inside. Times are unprecedented and scary. My friends are creating masterpieces or at least having a little bit of fun with their art.
I’ve been glued to my computer – working, or to the only person who makes me feel alive these days. The creativity was dormant but looky look, here it is! Back again and ready to party.
Sometimes I worry a little bit, that maybe I get a little bit manic sometimes. Days, weeks, of lying low – not always depressed, but low. And then out of nowhere I need to Cook All the Things, Write All the Words, Clean All the Rooms.
Not that that’s what’s happening right now. My kitchen is a horrible mess. I’ve started making my bed though. That’s pretty good right?
I remember, back in the day, when blogging was something I did for fun. I used to hole up in my house on a Saturday night with a glass of wine and make fun of boys I went on dates with. I had GIFs, I made funny lists. It was fun and cheery and bright.
Now I only seem to write about sad things, scary things. The thing is, I think the only time I actually have time to write is when I’m sad and scared. The rest of the time – these times outweigh the others, I swear, I am out there, Doing the Thing.
It’s harder to do the thing now. Obviously, things are very different than they were a couple of months ago. I was flitting about the world – starting a new job, rehearsing for a show with a broken ankle, seeing this boy a couple of times a week.
Things are slower now, a little deeper and sweeter but also tinged with panic. Panic that it’s moving too fast – that goes away quickly. Panic that the world is coming to an end – that one doesn’t really seem to go away at all.
I don’t sleep much these days. I try to, but around 3 or 4 in the morning I wake up from work-related dreams (I cannot seem to escape work – possibly because it’s in my home?) and waste away a couple of hours until sleep claims me again.
Of course, when he’s there, it’s different. A little more calm, a little more steady. I wake up, yes, but fall asleep soon after to the sweet rhythm of his breath.
I haven’t fallen like this before.
The last time I fell in love I was so young. I thought that love was supposed to be tumultuous, difficult. It was magnetic but it was also so painful. Almost from the start. We were trying to make something work but didn’t know how and the love was too deep for us to let go.
This time it’s slow. Measured. Cautious. It seems too soon and we’ve both been hurt so we’re appropriately aware of how much pain this could cause.
But the pace is no match for the deep connection, the laughs we share, the way I feel when he makes that face at me. When he tells me that I deserve everything that I seek. That it can be smooth and painless. Maybe some bumps, yes, but no bruises, no deep anxieties that make me scramble to hold on as tightly as I possibly can. I hold on tightly but not because I’m scared to lose him but because I need him to know that holding him makes me feel even more whole than before – I was whole already, but then I’m more whole. More me. Not struggling to be someone I’m not. Not struggling to change someone into who I want them to be.
Just being. Even though it’s messy and I probably cry too much and I feel anger as strongly as I do love and joy.