Crescendos
I have felt inept for the last several days, at least when it comes to words. Words, which are usually my friends. Not necessarily in times like these.
I have been moody and weird, full of self-righteous anger one minute, dwindling into raucous laughter the next. I don’t know what to think about it until I am sitting quiet and still in my house, and I think it is all the changes. I am a creature who feeds on routine, repetitive actions. It is usually comforting but short-lived, since it brings me to destruction. I have stopped destructing myself.
It makes me feel unstructured and slippery, like a jelly mold or some sort of shapeless, flimsy piece of sex-wear.
It feels nice to remain whole for more than a few minutes, but my eyes are always questioning when they puddle with tears and I collapse into some sad-sorry heap.
Sunday night I pulled into my empty driveway late at night and broke down. It was easy to cry with the warmth of my car surrounding me, the dim light over my driveway the only light I could wrap my mind around. I looked in my rear-view mirror at the house across the street and it kept me from dissolving into fizzy bubbles all over the floor. I cried over a miscommunication and I knew I was being silly, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop because everything was too much, too fast, all at once. A usual complaint. And it was easy to picture Brandon’s face, and to look over at the patio and remember one of the only times we sat there and what we talked about and how I had him close to me then. And it was even easier to remember that he cast me off, that he didn’t want me anymore, and I was too ashamed with tears clogging my throat to yell out at the fading memories.
I am such a sad little person sometimes.
so much more about you that you never let me see. you turned away, but not to me.
Things are sad and difficult but there are small nuggets of happiness here and there, some divine pull that keeps me striving for all of my most cherished hopes. I want a pretty house in the country with a big porch, one I can sit on, barefoot, with a cup of coffee or tea between my always-cold fingers, savoring the sunset or the rainstorm or some act of nature. Or even just to sit and admire the sky and be thankful. Or forgetful. Or beautiful. For a moment. For an endless series of moments.
Sometimes when things get sad or difficult, I think of these things. Or I imagine what my kid(s) might look like. Or how flashy and black my car will be with heated seats. Or a big summer sun shining on my face. Or that sense of self-accomplishment when I finally get a degree in…something. Or the cabin I want in the Wisconsin woods. Or a burst of yellow roses and violets on a nature trail.
There are things that I want, crave, deserve….and finally, after such a long time, I am allowing myself to voice it.
Because small things crescendo into big things.
Love,
Amanda