I have “The World Spins Madly On” by The Weepies on repeat right now. I also have read through all the stories I’ve written that are on my computer and am perusing the “quotes” section of Pinterest. I’m exhausted but have no interest in sleeping. Sometimes there are things that are somehow bigger than natural instinct.
All of these stories, they all house such a big part of me. Some of them seem like they were written by another girl. Some of them seem like they were written yesterday. Half of them I don’t even remember writing and they were clearly not written about anything in particular. Those are the ones that make the most sense.
It’s interesting, isn’t it, how a past version of yourself seemed to know exactly what you would need eventually?
I’ve somehow also landed on the PostSecret website and I’m at a loss. The secrets are always sad or shocking or numbing. I find it so difficult to believe that there are so many people in the world that have burdened themselves so heavily. I find it so saddening that there are so many people whose only outlet is a mailbox and a 4×6 piece of cardstock.
I also find it hard to believe that I can’t come up with anything that I would send in.
I suppose that is a good thing.
Ah, I’m not sure where this is going at all. I need to bake this week, some flour therapy would be nice. I’ve had many comments and compliments lately on this blog and the things I write here, so I just wanted to say another big thank you to everyone for all the support and lovely words. I wouldn’t have nearly as many things to say if it weren’t for all the people in my life.
I’m just going to finish this off with a little note that I found in my documents. It hit home pretty hard tonight.
The sky is as blue as we wish our lakes could be. The crystal-clear, cloudless vastness of it is calling my name and I can’t quite seem to answer the beckoning. I possess little more at this point than a desire to dive into its clarity with a naive hope that I will achieve some clarity for myself.
I’m wondering lately about the changing of the world, of the lives that I know and the hearts that I’ve broken. I’m wondering what makes these things change and what makes them stay the same. I know I’m not the only person to have ever struggled with the concept of change and I will definitely not be the last. I’ve just never felt it so hard, never felt such an undying weight of the decisions I’ve made.
There is an image in my head of myself as a woman, probably around the age I am now, cruising down a desert highway in an old beater convertible. I’m not driving. My hand is wind surfing over the side of the car and there is a smile on my face that I have never owned. The sky is as blue as it is today. That woman is me only in body, in spirit she is something I have yet to know. She holds on to a freedom that had only come to me in my quietest moments. She is who I want to be and who I will discover.