Being truthful to this moment

"There is a difference between fact and truth," he said, and I found us leaning forward in our seats, nodding in response,

"Whether or not something is real, doesn't matter as much as your conviction that it is true."

We spend every moment of our waking lives, choosing to ignore and avoid all the infinite amount of moments that take us from start point to end point. At a stop light, we wait for the green man (that is actually white) to come on, and then we scurry across. We are preoccupied with getting to the other side. We are preoccupied with what comes after the crossing.

We are preoccupied with our end point.

But from this side of the road to the other, there are an infinite amount of moments that we actively choose to ignore and disregard.

The car that slows the moment he sees the amber light from 50 feet away. The car that speeds up when he sees the amber light, and then screeches to a halt inches from the white line. The car that speeds up and makes it past the light before it turns red.

These are all moments.

And then,

the driver drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you cross the road.

The driver who stops to sip his coffee. The driver who finishes up her eyeliner.

The lady behind you who ambles along with her shopping cart, even when the amber hand comes up with its numbers flashing. The man beside you who walked with ease and then quickened his pace in response to the amber hand.

These are all moments.

And we choose to ignore them simply because we haven't the time, we're distracted, we're everything else but interested.

In this exact same way, we ignore the person in front of us.

Language is a barrier, and you can do a lot more without saying anything. As long as the person in front of you is breathing, they are giving you something. They are offering you something for you to take, and you are doing likewise. Whether it is a warning to stay away, or an invitation to get to know you better, they are offering you something.

And we ignore this; this non-verbal communication, this exchange that goes beyond words. We shut out silences and fill it instead with words because it is easier than sitting and feeling each other.

We do this because we don't want to be socially responsible for that random chap on the train, or the girl in the Honda Civic that pulled up beside you.

There are things that are mine, and mine alone to know. There are other things that I do and I like sharing with those closest to me.

And there is quite a bit of me that I leave for the world. I suppose I don't mind myself being as open and as frank as possible. And as much as I can, I try quite earnestly to keep at that.

So.

I think right about now,

I'm grappling with the notion or the (albeit vague) feeling that it's not so much me that she needs as much as it is someone.

And that right now, I'm not that person. Or it has so been chosen that I will not be that person because I am a little bit far away, which of course makes sense.

This isn't laced with any sort of insecurity or jealousy. Right now, in my head, it's just going,

"Well this is how it feels, and this is the situation as I perceive it."

Can I do anything about it? Nope. Is this the truth of the matter? The truth is in my perception, whether or not this is, in fact, the case, is an entirely different matter altogether.

Am I sad? Well here's the thing, I cannot possibly be sad (and I truly mean this), if someone that I care about immensely and am terribly in love with is happy and content and comfortable.

From this point to the time I land, there have been, there are and there will be, an infinite amount of moments. Not physically being in the same space doesn't necessarily mean missing out on those moments, because that is a moment in itself.

And from the time I land, to the point where our time together is up, there will also be series after series after series of infinite amounts of moments.

I can be there. I can. I would like to. Most of me wants to. Just like I can be there now.

But how far one gets with this intent, is very largely dependent on the other person too.

I don't suppose it makes very much sense to be around when you're not really needed or wanted.

And there's also always that whole, "in this frame of time" thing going on.

A bit like chess.

Who happens to be where, while also here while also this that and the other.

I don't like thinking about all of it like this, to be honest. But I'm trying to very brutally break down everything, in the hopes of finding a smattering of words that makes some sort of sense, at least to me.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is,

there is a huge, gaping, non-physical distance that I find myself staring at.

And I'm not quite sure what to do.

Never the sort who could quite be bothered with the fixing, I seem to have found myself wanting to do that with you. It still takes me aback but, ta dah.

At the same time I'm also faced with the unanswered question of why it feels like this, if I am simply perpetuating the situation and if it's something that will end up being a recurring issue. Because, well, because it isn't the loveliest thing to be dealing with I guess.

There is also a part of me that wonders (and this might prompt shout of, "YES, you douche! you're perpetuating this and how you're feeling with your rubbish!"),

just wonders,

if maybe I fit just for that frame of time.

There's a lot of furthering of this piece of thought to do,

but this is the best I can come up with for the Now.

I'm trying, really I am.

The whole point was to see what happens and how we deal, right?

So, if this is our Oh Shit-moment or our What The Fuck's Happening-moment then I'd like to see what we'll do, having been thrown into such ambiguity.

In any case,

I would like, I would like very much, to be there for the infinite number of moments that take you from one point to the next and to the point after that. I have never felt as such before. This I am acutely aware of.

But it's less about me than it is about you. And if you'd rather me not, then there isn't much else I can do now is there?

I'd also quite like to be there for all the bits and pieces that will take us from one point to the other and to the one after that. Of this I am incredibly sure.

This thing we've got, it seems like the most frikkin' organic thing I've ever had. And raw as it is, as unsure as I am,

I'm not minding it one bit.

When I hold on to that, I feel just a tad better.

November 30th 2010, Tuesday 2:20am

The only things we're in love with, are ideas

"I love you. Believe me. Why won't you just accept that, take it as it is? I love you, I really do."

"Okay, and then?"

"But I just can't love you the way you love me."

They'll ask you to, cajole you, to make you believe. Want you to, so much, so much.

But all they leave you with, are broken bits of glass still stuck in the carpet,

long after the words have fallen and the vacuum cleaner's given in to silence.

Welcome to The Acting Corps

Two year difference babeez!

Today was fantastic. Meeting new people, finding out, discovering things. All of it.

I wouldn't have changed one bit. Okay, maybe I would've tried harder at being responsible (even though I really

did try quite hard and honest to God, I don't know why I didn't check back and/or double check), in an effort to save my grammy from screaming into mommy's only hearing ear and having the family in an uproar and seconds away from sending a search party downtown to hunt the streets for a Chink girl who was very happy finding her way back home.

I had me some coffee and write-time at Tom's. Okay, I lie. I ate. I had a burger at half three even though I wasn't hungry because I figured it was about time for lunch. I hate doing that- eating when I'm not hungry. I don't know why I even do it sometimes.

Had coffee that was much too sweet and thought about the class that had ended.

Am.Freaking.LOVING.it.

Had someone tell me I had nice eyes and a cute smile which made me go "Why Thank You." And then Louise (he was our instructor today because Jenny got into a car accident on her way to us) pointed out how I was very responsive to everything while a lot of others were blank walls. It's not that either one or the other was more right/wrong/whatever, it's that the best thing about acting, is all the real bits to it.

Someone else after that said I was genuine, and that made me smile.

We did something called Repetition today. Which was pretty cool.

Not just for the pair physically involved in that space and time and moment but for the rest of us in the audience.

And this is never something I'll ever even hope to get out of my kids. Everyone's just so absorbed in themselves and how it affects them and their involvement that they don't see that being in the audience involves one just as much as being on stage.

For instance, this one pair that went up, it kept us all riveted because their energy was so incredibly charged. And it was frikkin' bizarre, because half way through, that energy became super sexually charged in the most odd way. And it was just that tension or that energy between them. Created by, well them as people, but not consciously.

And I mean the chap's like mid-forties and she was twenties, for sure. And I'm not saying anything happened, I'm saying that there are all these moments.

These fucking moments that are crazily charged with all these things and it.is.mindblowing.

Pretty cool, I think.

It was fantastic.

All of it was.

And there was so much that I got out of it.

Not as an actor, no.

But as a person.

There was just so much truth to all of it, that every second word made me want to cry and dissect it and repiece it and put it away.

And I will.

Soon as I find out how to write faster.

November 29th 2010, Monday

11:55pm

Smiled and said "Yes I think we've met before"

in that instant it started to pour

Here's the thing about ex-lovers who are best friends or best friends who are ex-lovers,

there isn't ever a reason to not find a park bench to go sit down at.

And there is an odd familiarity that comes with talking about the inane, the mundane, and why the word "squirrel" is so annoyingly amusing when said in an American accent.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me

and I can't look back

I'm scared.

Because I don't know what any of this means.

It's never felt like this before.

I would like...

for a lot of things.

Also, to be able to talk about this. Except I can't, not really.

So I'll hang on here for just a tad longer.

all the things you try too hard to hold on to

Talking with V and Vic made me realize that the tricksy thing about feelings, is that sometimes they like to pretend to be feelings they're really not.

This insecurity, it's different. I cannot even begin to attempt to explain myself,

cannot even begin to find myself answers when I haven't even found the words to put my questions together yet.

I'll go write some place else instead.

Because,

because sometimes, people want you to believe and trust and trust and believe.

And you do. And you give them the key that unlocks all of you, even the bits that you don't ever let the world see. And you like that; You wanted to, after all.

But after a while, you stop being very much to look at, barely reason enough to think about. And they'll still have that key hanging off the quietest chain on their neck.

Creme Brule. Jello

And so, when I stop being enough for you

let me know, okay?

November 27th 2010, Saturday

Because she won't look back

They belong to Anistasiya Lazurenko.

Empty eyes, voice, words.

Soles burning into life,

Life burning into souls.

It's only been a few days, I know. And it's funny but, you know,

the best thing for me right now,

is a walk outside.

I'll start classes in just a few days,

things'll get better then.

Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all i see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
Ever known
So come home

so it's perfectly on course

if in the end it starts to snow

(Black) Friday, November 26th

9am

The Penguin on her finger says Hello

It ain't no celebration without booze, they say.

So while their laughter echoes about the house, my generation sits about in different rooms, distracted with screens all of different sizes.

I don't mind it too much actually.

My new nickname is Sniffles and I am a tad jetlaggy. The plane food was not worth waking up for. rawr.

Naw, it wasn't bad. It's just, I wouldn't have minded going without it.

Thanksgiving was a shockingly quiet affair with the Tang's. We attempted to go to Fossilman's afterwards, quite forgetting that most people might actually be home for Thanksgiving.

So we came home instead.

Slept away the afternoon, although I could honestly do with more sleep. Feel like curling up like a fat fluffy cat under the covers(:

I will go for a walk a night walk with The Little Creature now.

Don't mind shopping in the least, but the thought of Black Friday honestly scares me a little bit.

I sort of don't want to die.

Plus, post New Year's always has bigger discounts!

Okay, going for walkies, says Sniffles!

November 25th 2010, 10pm

l'amour c'est mieux a deux

racing, screaming to burst out and be a mess on the carpet floors in front of me.

Oh these carpet floors,

where people stand for minutes, fifteen at a time. Some cheating, some giving, but all, all of them leaving.

"why do you do this to yourself?" she asks, pleadingly.

But the girl in question shakes her head dumbly.

For a talker, she always loses her words like this.

For an actor, she always misses her cues.

For a piece broken and re-pieced, she always finds the edge of the table.

For a lover, she always loses.

We sing the same songs, use the same lines, say the same words.

We bring new people to places made special by the old, and we love the only way we've known how.

No it's not a fault, and no it's not wrong.

But I suppose reality comes too much like a bucket of iced water and, as small of an issue it is, it sorta hits you.

All the loveliest things this person is to you, this person has been to someone else,

and will be, to someone else after too.

Of course, we all know this.

Yet for some reason, one can never brace themselves for that single freezing moment when the penny drops.

To find that your favourite pet name used to be someone else's, to think that some of the most picturesque ideas that you've talked about while sitting about in parks might just have been created with one before yourself.

Words, at least for me, aren't difficult to believe because of lies I know we're all capable of telling. Nope, that's not it. They're difficult to believe because I always wonder just how much they might possibly mean if one has used it before with other people.

But.

I've had my feelings scoffed at, laughed at. Been second-guessed, questioned, interrogated. I've had to justify myself, prove the meaning of my words and I have found myself so caught up with the desperate need to have my words be believed that it felt like my insides were creeping up to choke me. I would never, never want for that to happen to anybody else. Even whilst wishing people would think through the cause-and-effect of their words.

I honestly don't think it is for anyone else to say whether or not your words are real. I don't think it is for anyone to decide that you cannot mean what you say simply because you've used those exact same words with the person you were with before, and before that.

When it comes to me-

I pick my words and when I feel ready, and if I feel like I can,

I lay them down like cards on a table. Most times, I feel like I'm putting myself out there, and it isn't the most secure feeling in the world. But whether or not you believe what I say is completely out of my hands.

And when people find words to give me, I'll admit that sometimes I discount them (and if I haven't known you very long, can you blame me?)but I do also try to hold on to all the things that might just be real.

I started this off, upset at the sudden realization that there are and will be pet names/phrases/ideas and dreams that have been said or talked about with one before myself. And bloody hell, that wasn't the nicest feeling in the world as I was leaving, to be quite honest.

But, almost twelve hours on and quite literally, half way across the world (I'm finishing this post off while on the plane), I've figured that it's very simply (and honestly) part and parcel of being with someone who's been with someone else before. Just like having to deal with issues/habits/reactions that have developed either because of having been with other people or because of things that've happened in this person's life. It works both ways, and that's just the way it is.

So, here's something I'd like very much for you to know-

That I believe you.

When you tell me about things that are a first, when you tell me about feelings you haven't felt before, when you tell me about things you've found different.

I believe you.

When you tell me I'm beautiful, that you don't mind picking out faucets and sinks,

that you could get used to this.

I believe you, and somehow, it makes sense to.

And I love you, and am in love with you,

and for once, it doesn't seem like a bad thing.

When I think about all of that, and how I feel, and all these things you manage to make me feel,

those minute, nonsensical things that set me off at the beginning of this post, like on Monday evening,

they don't matter in the least.

They don't anymore, because.

Because,

there'll be new things to do, new places to go. There'll be things we'll find special, and mental pictures we'll get to take and hold on to. We'll find dreams to paint, situations to think up, couches to pick out.

And there will always be a whole collection of things created with other people, but there'll also be you and me. And I couldn't possibly ask for more.

Why in the world should any of us rework the scenes that have already been when we can laze about- backs on grass, faces to the sun- devising and creating and dreaming up a whole stream of new scenes that will make up everything else of us?

Most of all, there shouldn't be, there isn't, anything that can make what we have seem any less than what it really is. And I am sorry, for Monday evening; that for even a fraction of a moment I allowed my insecurities make less of what was actually the loveliest start to a week with you.

And so,

believe me when I say that no one's made me feel the way you do. That you're quite something special.

That I love you, with everything that I am.

And believe me, when I say, I believe you.

Vv and Vic are at my place right now.

And despite the ringing in my brain, and my hurting throat, and my desperate, desperate need to sleep,

I think it'd be a good idea to start packing.

My plane, it's sorta leaving in a few hours.

when there is nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire

I will write.

I will write and write and write until there is nothing left

because

because I haven't had to fight this feeling in so, so long, and honestly,

I'm a little scared.

I tried.

Even though it never makes sense to talk about it with the persons remotely involved in the trigger of this sort of nonsense. It doesn't make sense because I used to do that, let people in. And honest to God, it doesn't get you anywhere.

So.

I attempted to put my words together and be honest.

And I want to be honest like that because talk is cheap, and people say things they don't mean all the time, mind-fucking you every chance they get.

So I did. And I thought I got it all out, and I thought it made sense. And I was almost okay.

Except, I don't think I got myself across quite right. And then I wanted to, I wanted to right what I was saying, and I tried, was trying, but my words kept catching,

kept tripping and I didn't know how. And no, I'm not frustrated at myself because of it, it's just the way it is. So I figured I'd drop it except, except I hate that a half idea's been left out in the open instead of all of it.

I think I'd rather have had you not understand me at all, or not heard from me, rather than get a vague picture.

Okay so. Secret's out then. I wanted to explain myself.

Except it was time to go.

When it happens like this, I never know quite what to feel.

And so I bite my lip really really hard, until it starts tasting different, and then I just hope that it'll kill the bubblings of nonsense that build in my chest.

Maybe it was a lot of sappy bullshit that I found myself tearing up over while trying to be logical. Maybe I was tired. Maybe despite being tired, I made myself verbalize what I felt except it didn't feel like I had all my words and so it was a shoddy attempt.

Maybe it's all of it.

And that's one too many reminders or thoughts or realizations of feelings.

Here's the thing too-

That now that the conversation is brought to an end, I won't want to bring it up to sort out properly. Except, I am very much for sorting through things so that you can put it away and label. And although I can sort it out with myself, and actually have, for the most part, and found myself like 75% less hung up about what I will henceforth refer to as Issue 01,

you, on the other hand, are left with a half idea that I've been rubbish enough to put across to you. Which doesn't give you insight or understanding or, well, anything. And that's not your fault, it's mine. Especially so because I decided to give up (and said so out loud).

Perhaps I will write it in a letter to add to the stacks of unsent, in a feeble attempt to make myself feel better.

Post 9:28pm and the wave of nonsense it brought triggered an insanely intense string of questions that went off in my head. It's like tripping the burglar alarm in your own home, and you need to scramble, knocking into chairs and table corners, to get to the bloody device and key in codes before the police come round.

So Issue 01, oh it was barely the beginning.

In fact, Issue 01 isn't even an issue anymore;

I've dealt with how I felt, understood what stems it, acknowledged both the logical and illogical thought progressions and come to the conclusion that it was very much less to do with the person in question as it was how the scene played itself out. Especially in my head.

But this in turn sparked off furious questions fired off at me from four walls of mirrors.

And they've got a point.

They always do.

That hurting distance is really, no distance at all.

That sometimes we believe things we want to believe.

That talk is cheap.

That people can say the most beautiful things when they're in bed with you.

That we lie to ourselves best.

That it only hurts like this, because one feels so much for that person.

That the only reason anything hurts or is painful or even just stings a bit, is because one allowed such feelings to be.

It's not that I feel this way about you or anyone in particular.

These are just one-liners from my multiple protagonists.

And these, I will sort through on my own.

And I am tired, I am.

Of myself, of being tired of myself like this.

But I suppose the biggest reason I needed to write, needed so desperately and urgently to write,

was because I haven't reached (if only mentally) for something so immediate and sure in the longest time.

Haven't had to fight that crippling dependency that's made up most of who I am, but which I've never seemed to have minded, for the most part.

Haven't had to think through a teary mess like this. Haven't even been a teary mess in the longest while.

And maybe I decided against it for the wrong reasons, but at least it held me off long enough to open this page.

So.

Spent, I shall now take this mess to bed with me and curl up under the covers.

There's a whole lot more than this batshit to sort out before Thursday morning.

1000th

Surely, surely, this post is deserving of words that sound just the tiniest bit more than a collection of emotional rubbish, right?

All the words, they've been the same.

Still sappy, sometimes teary. They dream up impossibilities, sort out inner turmoils, are more decisive than the writer herself.

And I write because it keeps me sane, it helps me think. Brings me to terms with things people cannot always tell me.

I like that I do.

That I have been for ages now.

And yes, years on, there is still that sappy shmuck inside who gets a tad bit sad at the stupidest things.

But most things just end up being funny, when you really think about it.

Most things don't matter as much as you think they do, are not half as big of an issue as you make it out to be.

Most things are pretty much the same, and our reactions don't vary that much more either.

So it's funny. It is.

Because God knows, we sure need less reasons to hate ourselves.

I love the way you lie

Stepped out onto the lift landing and stared at the apartments I was faced with.

My keys, ipod and cell phone clung on to the tips of my fingers, and I held them without trying.

I felt like dropping everything.
Correction.
I feel like dropping everything. Physically, literally, metaphorically.
And just,
Stopping to lean against an ageing parapet, stare out at planes that swim through clouds and try to breathe at the sight of city lights that will always, always hold empty promises.

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differently than any drug, that's washed me into sleep

So it's going to be a month and a half this time.

I don't exactly know what to feel about some things, and the uncertainty is sometimes unnerving.

But we always get something out of it in the end. Always.

And going through whatever it is we do/will go through adds to the person you end up becoming.

If people can collect stamps, or get a new tattoo every time they visit a new country, or collect prepaid sim-cards from around the world, or save a single item from every person they've been in a relationship with,

If people can hoard letters, or photographs, or shoes,

if people can collect memories,

then I don't see why one can't collect feelings and experiences.

Maybe doing what I do allows for this, and few would have a use to do that (collect feelings and whatnot).

It's interesting though, drawing on something real to create and/or re-create.

I wrote once, a few years back, about how impossibly riled I was because some preacher was going on and on and fucking on about marriage and the rest of it and how he'd been married for bloody long. I distinctly remember being pissed off because there wasn't much else to his marriage besides length of time. (I can't remember why but I was acutely aware of this point)

He hadn't been a druggie and an alkie, during which his wife stayed by his side and saw him through recovery. Because I know a couple like that and they've been married more than thirty years now, and THAT is something.

I'm not saying relationships need to have been through something as traumatizing as that to be worth speaking of. I'm not saying relationships NEED to have been through anything at all. And I'm not even just limiting this point to relationships.

I'm saying, having your boat rocked isn't the most fun experience in the world,

but when you get through it, it'll be something to look back at.

Maybe this is me and how I'm choosing to deal with how I feel about most things that happen.

Of course there are a million other ways that situations can turn around,

and there are plenty of other takes and perspectives. All of which are no less than the other.

But, as I always do, I write because sometimes, I need to tell myself things too.

In other words, I rant and rave on my own blog, at myself.

No Charis, not weird at all.

I don't know what's going to happen in the month and a half. I don't know how it'll feel, I don't know what to expect, I don't know how I will deal.

Sometimes, when I let myself think about it a bit more, I think I'm a bit scared of getting lost in all of it.

New experiences (bad or good) are fine if they come in reasonable doses. But most times, they don't come in bite-sized amounts.

Some time earlier this year, I wrote about appreciating things while they were instead of fretting about what will come after. Or simply, letting yourself be in that moment as opposed to thinking about how it possibly won't happen again.

Because if you don't, then you'll never get to enjoy that bit of time in its entirety.

I guess what I'm trying to say is,

I'd like to switch of my cell phone, turn off the alarms, take the music out of my ears and just sit. Because to me, that's the best way of holding on.

All the things you hold on too tightly to, the things you're afraid of not appreciating enough,

they will promise to slip right through your fingers. And they will, even as you're watching.

I wouldn't like for that to happen, not in the least.

And we've barely four days.

"Dear John,

tell me everything. Write it all down.

That way, we’ll be with each other all the time, even if we’re not with each other at all."

-- an excerpt; Nicholas Sparks, Dear John

i want to make it better

But it's not enough

Coeur De Pirate

Well, she's certainly got mine.





Dear John,
I'll come back.

My life, the improv scene

There are a lot of things I don't know:

The twelve times-table

Whether or not I'll do a good enough job at fixing up some of the scripts I'll need to work on

If Erika will say Yes to what I'd very much like to be her Christmas present

When our album will be released

When I'll ever go back home

What I'll feel in the month and a half that follows the 25th

How I'll deal with whatever it is I feel

What to expect after July

If the coming month and a half will give me a vague sense of what might happen

If any of it will work out

How I'll feel with all that it may or may not bring

If I'll come back here, and when

Where I'm supposed to end up

But there are things that I do know:

The three times-table, to the tune of Jingle Bells

That I teach voice projection and the use of one's diaphragm, but don't practice it all the time

That I love my job, and the kids, and all the things I've been doing

I am desperate to learn so, so much more about theatre arts

When you write, start with something you know

That my last article published was a devotional piece in a magazine a couple of years back

Strawberries taste best when you're picking them in a farm

Earl Grey Tea and Scottish shortbread were made for each other

That plans change all the time

You can love your kids and still walk away from them

Being in love with someone doesn't necessarily mean needing to be with them, or being what's best for them, or being what makes them happy

People will walk out on you

That it's a good idea to take samples of your feelings and stow them away for future use in characterization

There will be some things that won't make sense after a while

You'll always walk away with something at the end of it

Leading a life swinging from one string of smoke to another, a packed suitcase by the door and "the good China" still wrapped in newspaper, it takes its toll on you eventually.

As many things as I don't know, there's just a bit that I actually do. Holding on to that makes a lot of transitions a tad more bearable.

Other things that I know:

I would like to go back home for a bit one day

There'll always be more ways to direct the same scene

The four basic rules of Improvisation

That I love you, and I'm in love with you

That I don't mind it

That it doesn't necessarily mean I make you happy or that I'm the best thing for you,

but I do

And I know that I don't know how it'll happen, but all the same,

I could do this for quite a while

saya tak tahu

But He takes His time to work suddenly,
And He'll always pull through.

This one certainty in a haze of What Ifs and Maybes,
is all I need for a stepping stone.

______________

I never knew you felt the way you did,

but I like that you found words for it.

And I didn't know I could feel the way I do,

until I realized there're a lot of words I should go about looking for.

But I want you

all the more, for that

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me, and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

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Secret

I almost had the words, but then

I couldn't tell you.

Because,

because if it were me, and I were on the other end of the phone, I wouldn't believe it.

But then all of today, I'd find myself thinking about it.

Testing the weight of my unsaid words on the tip of my tongue, rolling my eyes at myself. Shaking it off, coming back. Scoffing at myself, coming back.

Back, to words that've burned themselves into my vision when I squeeze my eyes shut.

There cannot possibly be anyone else I'd want, for a really really long time.

So uhm.

I happen to be thinking of you this evening.

(:

Happy Valley

So uhm,

Hello you(:

I am

excited. Terribly so at that.

But would also like to crawl into bed now, despite really having wanted to blog.

There are always so many things to blog about sometimes.

Except I seem to have forgotten them all now.

will.hold.on.a.bit.longer.

I am torturing myself with pictures of jaw-droppingly hot ribcage tattoos.

YesyesYES bloody 'ell, I know I was supposed to have gotten mine done in June. Rawr.

ahmahgad.

This.Is.Freakin'.Torture.

Obviously I will not jump into it. I mean, it's going to be my biggest piece yet and it's going to just HAVE to look stunningly gorgeous. And it will. Y'know, eventually.

*whine*

ahmahgaaad, so hot!

Motivation motivation!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKK

I will go chew on my fingers now, dammit.

What's Up Buttercup?

I'm Jello.

I've always been Jello. And I am fine with that. I like what I am.

I am Jello.

I'd give the world, to make you happy.

I could, with you

"So I've always wanted to have kids and like..." She cuts me off mid-sentence, laughing,

"Haven't we both always wanted to have kids?"

In truth, I don't quite remember. I do know that she loves kids though, she has, for all the time I've known her.

Hanging out with Cali for a bit today, and having The Little Creature read me an interesting post from the blog of a particular parent got me thinking.

I've always stood firm in my belief that you don't have to be married to have a kid, that there doesn't have to be two, that it never has to be what the rest of the world has decided is correct or best for a child.

For the longest time, I've just been absolutely bent on my plan of being a mother alone. Not because I didn't want to be with anyone, but because I never quite saw myself fitting into the whole happily-married-soccer-mom-to-two-boys-and-a-girl picture. I've always figured the other person will leave and personally, I think it's easier to change diapers and handwash bibs when you don't have to pause to sign the divorce papers.

I've always wanted to be a mother, and I've always wanted to do it on my own.

But then of course, sometimes life surprises you completely.

In my opinion, there'll be that single person who manages to flip a switch that's always been there and turn on a colored light even though you knew for sure that all your bulbs were white.

I digress.

No my ideas and plans for parenting have never been particularly typical, and I don't think they are even now. And yes the world has its opinions, and no, I don't need to shove my opinions down anyone's throat.

But that doesn't mean swapping out my ideas or anything of the sort.

When the time comes, when parenting finally comes along for me,

I want to be able to bring them up such that they'd tell me,

"It doesn't matter that no one liked my purple shoes. I like them."

and the world was made right again

"Shower him with love," the other woman says
"It's not my love he wants." She replies.

It is painful and honest,
Broken and true all at the same time. That's the problem sometimes I suppose-
Loving someone doesn't necessarily mean being what they want/need.
And the knowing, it doesn't make it any less painful. Just like it doesn't mean you'll stop loving that person altogether.
Feelings have always been tricksy, tricksy things.

------------------

I'm glad we fixed us.
I like that we try, and that we want to.
It's nice being able to talk the way we do-
You have no idea.
To be able to be open and honest and broken. Not because we need fixing, but because there's something real and raw about it. I like being able to dissect and think with you, identify issues and talk.
And then I like wrapping it up, and putting it away.

This place we've found ourselves in, it's nice.
I am comfortable and happy. Not in a roll-about-with-excitement way, but in a deep-down-this-is-impossibly-real way.
Like, if there was an exact opposite for the phrase Happiness is Fleeting,
Then this would be it.

I'm in love with you.
The thought of it has always been rather frightening (not being in love with you, just being in love), and there are times where I'm not entirely sure what to do with how I feel.
But somehow, it seems less frightening with you than it is, uhm. Nice.
I can't seem to find another word, and that's the best I can come up with-
That it's nice.

A lot of things are, with you, just so you know.

And all this, that we have and like and is nice,
It feels like it'd be enough for red brick walls, wooden floors, french windows.
Like it'd fit right in with picnics on sunny days and hot cups of tea, blankets and books on rainy days.

Feels like it could just be you & me, while we wait for everything else to fall into place.

might i be allowed

To love you?
Because I could, for a quite a while.
And I sort of like that thought

the inside of the cave is cold, dark but it's not sad. not now.

"What are you doing, fool!"
There is a laugh of disbelief, "Trying, is all."
"You never used to, never used to even want to."
"I know."

Sometimes, we say things.

I wish I could read minds,
Read thoughts, read hearts,
Read you, right now.
But I can't.

I don't even know where to begin, to be honest. I'm not entirely sure if this distance is altogether physical or emotional. I happen to think it pretty much both actually.
And I don't know about you, but I'd like to fix it.
Except.
Well last night didn't really get anyone very far, I don't think.

Sometimes we say things, open boxes, rummage about.
Then, contents left spilling, we climb into bed,
figuring we'll just sort it out in the morning.
Sometimes, we say things.
And we don't do anything with that, aside from leaving it hanging over your head.

I wish (stop using that word Charis, fucking pansy)
Okay.

Okay,
I want to know where I'm going wrong here. And I don't think there's much use in pointing out what I/we think is going wrong if there doesn't seem to be anything we'd like to do with that information.

Mostly, I want to stop feeling like this. Not because I need things to be fine and dandy all the time,
(And maybe I'm trying too hard or not hard enough) But because I don't know how else to reach you.
And honestly,
That's how I'm missing you right now.
Quite a bit at that.


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How far do I have to go, to get to you?

"Where'd she go?"
"Took a trip man"
"Fer rel?"
"Took off. Took off running. Til she realized the only thing she was running from was what she needed to sit down and have a chat with."
"And then?"
"So then she came back."
"Oh?"
"You betcha. And she be dancing at bus stops now, music in her ears. I think she might be happy."
"Or mad."
"Or that, true. But it's not answers she needed see, she never needed answers. She just needed to know for sure. Even if she was sure about not being sure. Solid ground- that's what that girl needed. And when the most solid thing in the world starts feeling shaky, heck I'd run too."
"Yeah. I guess you would hey. So then, how'd the mess she had fix itself?"
"Well, I don't even know if it's fixed yet. But just finally facing up and talking about it, as opposed to talking about talking about it. Y'know what I mean?"
"Yeah. But so like, that's it? She just needed to frikkin' talk?"
"Naw man. She needed to talk, but she also needed to know she could still talk. And I guess it worked for her, finding out that talking still came easily and honestly with- well, a particular person."
"A particular person?"
"Yeah"
"A particular person?"
"Yeah, who she'd felt a long way off from in the last what, three or so months?"
"Oh. Okay."
"Yeah, but news is- the air's cleared. And I think it's always nice to be able to breathe again."
"You got that right."
"Yeah, so uh. The coffee machine's dead."
"Is it? Bloody hell, I've been waiting a half hour for non existent coffee."
"We all do that sometimes I suppose. But then, I'll bet the coffee tastes better when it finally does come."
"For sure."

"So."
"So, I'm heading out for my morning fix then. How bout I pick you one up too?"
"Sounds like a plan."
"Does it now?"
"Yeah, and not just cos you're buying either."
"I'll figure out a reply to that later. Meanwhile, the world could do with seeing a couple of blokes in suits dancing at bus stops don't you think?"
"The world could do with seeing a whole load of blokes dancing at bus stops, but I figure, someone's gotta start it."

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C'mon baby we're gonna live forever

Come with me tonight, we can make the night last forever.

You're in a folder marked Forever & Ever. You're written on pages that smell of secondary school, taste of tears. Written on the underneath of built-in desks, on the walls of rooms, on the front and the back of notebooks,

written on skin.

Sometimes it feels like we've gotten a move on with the rest of our lives, and honestly,

for the most part anyways,

it's quite scary.

But then I pull out sheets of lined paper, dreamt-up nonsense handwritten on it.

And I realize,

at the end of the day,

there's always going to be you guys.

Don't mind my nerves

I like how songs remind us of different times and phases in our lives.
How it works, magically almost, to bring you back and fit you in the exact place. Where you can feel the carpet beneath your feet, hear the wind in your ears, smell the air and almost, almost taste it on your tongue.

I like how songs take you places.
But sometimes,
you find yourself setting it on repeat, and no one's quite figured out if that's a good or a bad thing just yet.

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Sometimes

I wish an awful lot that I was alright

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it's been so long, I can't believe it hasn't been longer

I weaned myself off what used to be an entire list of my daily reads. I wanted to know, but at the same time, it didn't seem to be doing me very much good.

Then here I am, almost a year on and.

On one hand, I can't believe it's been so long. They've grown so much already, in this short space of time.
On the other hand, it almost feels like, "that's it? That's all that's passed?"

I
I don't know what to feel anymore sometimes. And I don't want to indulge myself in the sad sappy party that I can sometimes become, all by myself.

So.
I'm finally on my way home now.
But it's one of those days where I half wonder why I left because,
Because at least in the office, I'd know what to do with myself.

I'm taking my writing some place else.
Not because I'm so teary eyed I can't think. Not because I'm teary eyed at all come to think of it.
But because this evening,
I sort of really need to.

I wanted so to have you, and I wanted you to know

You,

are the most perfect thing to fall asleep to

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What is up with these people?

Okay.
So.
I've had the most seemingly normal of people say the most bizarre/ weird things.

And I'm just thinking,
Ahmahgad, where do you guys come from!

I must admit that I am a tad unnerved.
And considering I have a decent level of tolerance for weird/forward/down right crude,
That's saying quite a bit already no?

Strange little people. Most odd indeed.

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It's like picking up trash in dresses

So I thought of you in church today. Of going together, to either of ours.

Of having days where we might just go on our own, and then come home for lunch.

Of all the things I somehow feel with you.

So. I finished it. And dropped into Dropbox.

And then,

I just lay my head on the table-

my chest pounding, my fingers cold,

my head knowing that I've still got something else to finish.

For the first fifteen minutes after wrapping that up, I really didn't quite know what to do with myself. I sat in the pantry of my office, and just, stilled myself for a bit.

It's 6:21 on a Sunday evening. I've just got to finish up this last bit and I'll be off for home.

It's just this last little bit.

Really.

I sorta think we could both do with a bit of a getaway, right about now.

This is all I work for--

"I loved the most dramatic part of my script because when I was saying the part, I felt that I am the only one left in the world."
- Xie Di Kai, Secondary One

My kid wrote this in his feedback form.
It still gets me, even though I've read it over and over again.
And I realize,
This is why I'm here.

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Think sappy thoughts

"Did your heart ever want to ask something, but your head was too afraid of what the answer might be?"

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Surely, I will make it through this week alive

So. I was ten minutes short of a full four hours when the kids started looking superbly uncomfortable.
As it turns out, we were supposed to have started at One (I arrived at 12.55noon, thinking we'd start at half past one and didn't go to the room until then) and ended at half past four ( I don't even know how that makes up four hours, maybe it's me?!)

Okay. So nevermind.
It's the last session anyway. I just don't fancy the idea of having overrun by a full freaking hour.

Erika sent a couple of texts that had me feeling quite a bit better this afternoon. That and the class I suppose. (Funny how you can run away from work by doing more work.)

Then my sad christmas song comes on and I just.have.no.idea.what.to.do.with.myself.

This is impossible.
I don't know what's going on with today, or with me. Or if it's today or just me or all the things I've been blocking out and picking today to come out and make me feel all these things.

On a somewhat different (but sorta related) note-
I had breakfast with mommy this morning (come to think of it, that was the last time I ate) and well I started on the subject of being here. Like, being-being here.
And what she thought, and what she made of it and what (and where) she saw me.
Sometimes it makes sense. Well, makes more sense.
And then sometimes, I can't even begin to think about it.

But you see, Home is where you make it out to be- at least for the most part. I think what you feel about the place counts a whole lot, I really do.
And maybe I'm still only just getting used to/getting over the idea that UK/the States don't necessarily have to be where I end up in the long run.
Basically, at the same time, I'm sort of weighing things out in a way I've never done before.

So this conversation thing (it wasn't very in-depth at all really, just a casual mention), I was thinking about it a bit as I worked through my mess somewhere between 10.58am and 1.30 in the afternoon.

I don't know where I stand or what I'm thinking right now.

But I'll go sit somewhere, get myself a coffee and do work.
Or get myself a new piercing.
And do work of course.

I'm thinking about it.

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"Do you think I could stay?" She asked

It's like I'm on this slope, and I've slipped a bit over the last couple of weeks. It's like I'm moving upward by infinitesimal amounts, and falling back by leaps and bounds.

I ran away. I bladed, did muay thai. Tried desperately to find myself. I didn't actually hit rock bottom, but in the sanctuary of my office toilet, I sought respite.
And then I started again. Or tried. Or am trying.

Except it just feels like, every so often I'm pushing against some kind of firm, gentle but impossibly solid invisible force. I'm trying to make my way up this slope but it's so bloody difficult.
I don't want to let myself slip back down, and so I fight that too. But fighting against either direction proves tiring work. And so, I want to just stop. Not sit down and rest, but just hang on- my fingers clutching at sharp, awkward edges, my nails caught and cutting into dirt.
I can do with this taking a long while, but it's too long a way down to fall. So I'd like to stay here.

And then,
And then I find that as I hold on, just hold on without moving or fighting even, I'm pulled down by the weight of myself.
It's like, I need to, I'm forced to do something.
-------------

Even in the cab, I'm doing something-
Prepping myself for the class I'm on my way to. Changing out my shoes, tidying myself up.
I don't plug myself into music, this twenty minute ride. Sometimes it feels like I'm wasting time- like that time with music in my ears could be spent thinking about what I really need to be doing. Sometimes it stresses me out.

I can hear the wheels on the road, smell the haze that finds its way through the windows of the cab.
The city is a screen of grey, and I'm moving through it.
I don't want my cab ride to end. I don't want it to take longer or make me late, but I don't want it to end. I want this twenty minutes to stretch on for ages, so that I can think.
It gets difficult to these days.

I'm falling,
I'm falling apart.
It's not to do with people, or the amount of work, or the deadlines I'm given.

I'm at this school now.
The last time I was here was a year and a half ago. I distinctly remember having recently come back from Bangkok with Vic, Eme and Bird.
I miss myself. The person that I was then, the routine I carved for myself, the freedom within my structures.

"I prefer you now to how you were back then- Nonchalant, about life and the world and everything in general." He'd said to me, a friend I haven't been in touch with in a long while.
Expanded, he had meant laid back, careless.
Nonchalant, I don't know, but careless- yes. And I miss that about myself.

I miss how everything's within what I can handle and cope with. How plugging into music doesn't mean I'm wasting time.
I miss how it feels for it to be okay to have time for me-
To blade, to run, to swim, to do Muay Thai.
Because now when I do it, it seems like it's just a form of escapism. Like I'm running away.
Like I'm taking time off from my life and I know I'll have to get back to it.

These days, it feels like I'm stealing.
An extra half hour here for lunch, fifteen minutes to lie in. Maybe twenty minutes to stare at kois in a koi pond.

I'd blade or do something, something, anything.
Except that'd just be running away. And I'm not going to do that.

Oh it feels like everything I touch might crumble.

But I've got a four-hour class to teach now,
Six classes of forms to sort out this evening,
And two programs to clean up sort out and email.

I might want to hold on and stay in place a while,
But I can't.

Not now.

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All the things I tell myself are enough to hold on to

Her text this morning, it almost had me tearing up.

My recent realization- why does it make me feel such an extraordinary pain?

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i love the way we love

If I came home to you this evening after work,
Or if you came home to me this evening after dinner out,
It'd feel like all the itty bitty bits of things outside home wouldn't matter.
Not anymore.

things like this make me go "Aww"

Akif Halqi Naughtybynature

Clear Chat History

Today

MISS C!

Could you please please please kindly be our drama teacher for like, permanently!

running low on fuel

Don't waste yourself at the start, they say. They keep saying.
And they know best, I know,
Just looking out for you and all the rest of it.

But you can't possibly run out of passion, can you?
Or maybe it started off as that, and then the spillage came in.

As frustrated as I am, as infuriating as this feels, I'm glad it's happening.
In some sense anyways.
It's almost like, at least I get to sift through what may or may not work for me in the long run.
And I'm learning, really I am.
Like,
Don't make promises (or even bring up the idea of one) before you know what'll be asked of you.

In this space though,
It seems like I might be running a tad low on fuel.
It makes me uneasy, this realization. And my admission of it.
Because,
I can almost sense some part of myself turning to the other and going,
"So is this what you're truly passionate about?"

It scares me, because I'm less sure of my motivations.

I used to say I could do this forever.
I said that two and a half years ago or so, and I did carry on doing it.
I kept at it because I could.
It's just that 'this' has changed a bit, sort of expanded if I may.

But I mean, something's gotta give, right?
There're always, always bits of what you do that you don't like.
It'll never go seamlessly, but I don't know.
I guess at the same time I'm trying desperately to way out the compromises.

Someone got me thinking about something the other day-
Six months ago, ten months ago, twelve months even,
A low but comfortable number on the scale was a 5.5 out of 10.
And that number would either stay put or increase over the course of the day.

Now,
On a good day,
I wake up at a 2.5
It might go up a bit, now and then,but after,
It settles back into the same number.
And I'm comfortable, really I am. I'm not sad, oh lord, no.
But I guess I'm just not as happy and settled and at peace with myself as I used to be.
I hate that I'm finding this out, and that,
I've found myself in full confession mode.

I'm quite upset now.
And feeling bloody stupid at that.

Fuck the stupid knee, I'm going for Muay Thai tomorrow.

because for the first time, it makes sense to try

Something fits with you
Everything falls into place
Makes sense

Feels like I could've been doing this ages,
Feels like I can.

Like I could do this for a while
Like I could be here longer than I'd thought
And then it sort of all gets a bit messy and I'm not sure what to think anymore and inside, inside it's just a tumble of words one after the other after the other
Reallycharis,whyexplainyourselftellmecomeontellmethinkthisoutthewayyoualwaysdowritewritewriteuntilitallmakessense

Except
I keep writing-
In snippets, in paragraphs, in breaks,
In breaths, breathless.
I try to think it out but I'm still left empty-handed.

I like that we've talked about bits of it today.
I do.

But I also know that I'm due to sit down,
By water, with myself, my pencil and paper,
And start a conversation that won't go in a direction I know.

Like peas in a pod

And then I think,

"Hey, I used to know her."

It's funny, but it's also kind of just a little bit painful at the same time.

I'm always left wondering what happened, and how it did.

But sometimes, y'know,

just because you ask doesn't mean that you're owed an answer.

And it's best left as it is y'know, just like that.

But for that bit of time, it was fun.

And I'd like to remember that-

The screaming, and ditzy-ing about. The crying, the falling over, the falling.

We were always able to talk about things a couple of layers deeper than it looked like we could. I loved that about you. I loved that you called to tell me the smallest, most important things.

I loved that I could do the same with you.

And so, no,

I don't know what happened.

But Twin, I sure as hell miss you.

And I just wanted you to know.

impossibly so, in fact.

It's chilly out,
A smattering of red and orange bits about the front porch,
The lawn and on the pavement that runs on forever.

You're calling out from the kitchen-
Something about the blender that won't work. I'm leaning against the red brick wall at the end of the driveway that is just about chest level, taking all of it in.
Then you're leaning against the doorway,
glass of juice (from the carton) in hand, having given up on that sodding blender.

And I'm thinking-
It doesn't have to be here, or there.
Doesn't have to be like all the things we've thought up, or talked of, or laughed at.
And I'd never want you to stay if you didn't want to.
But, you're here right now, and that's just the loveliest thing really.

"Dream up something first," they've always said,
So I do.
And my word, who knew dreams could be so beautiful?
And who'd have thought that this dream might be one,
That one might want to hold on to for a while.


just so you know, I'm impossibly I'm love with you

they're all hands and fingers

leaving me with dirt right underneath my skin, staining my bones


Whenever things like this happen,
I tell myself it's just me-
That I'm paranoid, sensitive,
Going half mad.

Then it happens again.
And I think,
That's just it;
I'm half mad

But I realize,
Big brown eyes can hypnotize
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i don't do this very often

Wow.
You know, I have no idea what just happened.

or why this feels like this.


I think it's because,
For the first time,
It's like, it wasn't okay to cry. Even though you didn't have anything to do with it.

And uhm,
I'm still grappling with this whole, feeling quite daft thing.

I'm not feeling the way I am because I'm embarrassed about how I feel and what I think,
Not because you need to know what to do with all this nonsense I've brought up,
But just a little bit because I didn't mean for you to sorta stare at the spillage ang think,
Shoot, this is bloody Pandora's box this is.
I don't mean for anyone to have to see this and think that.


Which is precisely why.

What's on the other side of the ocean?

In all the houses that I've lived in since moving to Singapore (save for the first, I think) we've never fully unpacked. We've never unpacked every single thing from its box and given it a shelf or a cupboard space to call home. Even back in Pasir Ris, we had stacks and stacks of albums and cook books, kept in large plastic boxes- never unpacked.
Sure we took them out now and then, and there always has to be that first boyfriend your mom will show your baby pictures to,
But it was never on a shelf that would always hold a dusty outline of it.

We were always meant to go home;
Our time in this place, a stopover.

The first time I had to pack, I packed thirteen years of my life into boxes. (Because when we first moved in, I was still little enough to warrant the unpacking of all that was me)
Everything that I'd ever known, everything that had been with me or been collected in all that time, all of it was wrapped in newspaper and put into boxes.
And so we moved, and I dealt with it. We didn't unpack all of our things though, there was never enough space for anything.

Then we moved again, and I was less sentimental as I was keen on chucking stuff. Boxes of letter from the ex, pictures or cutouts of stupid things-
They had to go.

Everything that's with us in our apartment now has been unpacked. God knows why we still actually have boxes about, but all our stuff's with us for sure.
The rest of- which is about three quarters of all that we own (possibly more) is in storage somewhere in Woodlands.
And yes, it is as out in the sticks as it sounds.

We're moving again.

Of course, I've known this for a long time now. I've been the one bugging us to get off our asses, ever since we decided to buy a place a year back.
But going about looking, sorta makes things more real I suppose.

On one hand, I am happy.
I could do without my toilet door attacking me every so often and having a swimming pool in our kitchen every time we do laundry.
But I am tired.
I am tired because the one thing left on my mind is-
When is this going to stop?
When is this, all this moving going to fucking end?

We've always supposed to have been going back home, and when we weren't, we were supposed to be joining family in the States.
But we haven't as yet, and meanwhile, we have moved so many fucking times.
Packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking.

And in this time,
We've lived some kind of half-life. (I'm pretty sure I've said this before.)

Y'know, there'd have been a world of difference if someone had just decided that,
Sod all,
We're bloody staying put here.

No, I can't say I'd jump around in excitement. But at least there would've been just one, solid thing.

I would never ask anyone to move with or for me.
I might ask if they'd like to, but I would never have a place picked out, a life cut out and say, "come."
I couldn't.

And at the same time, maybe that's why I've always wanted to have kids early.
Because before I have them, I'd pick a place, plant myself there,
And I will not move for the longest time.
Not because I hate moving.

But because in all my life,
I've just always needed something more than a concept to hold on to.

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I think

Talking would be nice.

It's there, all of it, what I need/want to say. A jumbled mess, but there all the same.

Most times, it's just infinitely easier to talk about other things. It's always been easier to present the less emotional side of yourself, the side that people look at and tell you makes them happy, because you are.
It's always so much easier to tell yourself, that if you focus on something else for a while, hold on to something you're sure of, the rest of it won't be real. And maybe, you'll get away with not having to sort out iffy things like your feelings or thoughts.

So here I am,
Sitting on the floor of the loo, my back against the wall-
Much like I used to do back when I was in school.
Believing, I think, that maybe if I sit here just a bit longer, the world will forget about me and I won't have to go back to it.

I wish I wasn't like this, feeling all this nonsense. And I wish I could understand it better.
I am generally upset.
For the most part, it's a lot of things added up. Perhaps if I took the time to sort them out into boxes, folders and sub-folders, it wouldn't be half as bad.
But I guess taking the time to do so has always been my problem.

Okay, wait, that's a lie-
It's never been a problem I've had because I have always, always found time to write and think and just, talk with myself.
I don't get that so much anymore.
I try to, I really do. But it's less writing, even during my alone time.
And God I'm tired.
That in itself is a contributing factor. This whole lack of time with myself (although I am left puzzled because I DO still have me-time, I just haven't been using it to write so oughtn't I just sit down to write then? Except I'm more tired these days and... Okay, we're going 'round in circles again.)

But I'm sitting here because it feels safe. The solidity of the toilet floor, the sureness of the space between tiles. I feel so safe I might just cry.
And the drilling and hammering and sound of machinery, it feels like we're lost in it. Feels like I'm lost in it.
But the longer I sit here, the further away I seem to get from all that noise and oh, just the rest of the world.

I am tired.
So perhaps it'd be okay to just, curl up here for a tad longer,
close my eyes and tell myself that the world will make more sense when I go back to it.
Although, I really sorta hate making promises that I don't know if I can keep.

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