i love blogging. i love writing. just recording, in general. i used to think, a long time ago, that i kept journals in order to go back. so i could go back to that page where i began the poem that would put me on the map...so i could return to the dog-eared page that had a list of bands somebody referred to me, and look them all up...so would be able to share the events of my life with somebody years from now, in precise detail....so i could re-read and conjure up memories with the clarity of recency.
the truth is, i never re-read. my life is a ball that rolls, and there isn't any time to go back. it gathers momentum, and it gathers mass, and there's no time to add to the verses of a love poem whose subject is no longer even relevant, and whose pages have buckled with the moisture from my hands and the weight from the books it's been shoved between in various bags.
my life is dangerously compartmentalized, and that fact has become glaring, blinding, in the recent months. i have strings and years of exciting, life-changing, vision-altering friendships and relationships that fit into little boxes on little time-lines and fit even smaller into the weeks and months of my very elaborate calendar. something begins, and it feels like my life, and i enjoy it, and then it ends and something else begins. if i were to go back through one of those journals of mine, it would probably be filled with hundreds of entries that begin the exact same way: "this new person is great....this job is great....this is the plan....here's what's next....this didn't work....nothing lasts...."
there has been no continuity. i fill my life with business busyness, and make little room for any-thing/body else, so that when they fall away, there's little deep impact...or so i think. for the last few months, i have begun to realize that the terseness of my time with these people/projects, and the casual nature with which i wave off the idea of any potential deep-rooted heartbreak or disappointment, has great impact. the impact of absence is great. the absence of that continuity, has had great, deep, impact.
because of these realizations, and all the mornings i spent convincing myself to leave bed once i realized how many bridges i needed to get to work on, i have been writing letters. most of them are in their baby-stages, and who knows when i'll be brave enough to send them all, but i've sent one, and already good things have come. i feel good. i've been writing to people, and taking pictures of the things i think are beautiful, and i really haven't been writing, because writing about people doesn't make them stay. writing in my journal about hurt feelings and disappointment isn't a conversation. it does no good. and nobody sees it. feeling sorry isn't an apology. it may not seem like there's a direct connection, but i've started going to yoga, and working out a lot. taking care of yourself, and loving yourself, i've found, makes it so much easier to love others, and to let others love you.
i had to move my studio space recently, and that's also why i haven't been posting here, or updating my etsy...but writing here keeps me honest. it keeps me on top of all the little things in the background that need to be done.
today i planned and added knitting classes to the dry goods shop class calendar, but i still need to...
}organize receipts
}take work to hip replacements & atelier 24
}update this 'ole thing with all the photos i've been taking
}clean my room
}buy toothpaste--i just ran out
}ask off work for days in january
oh yes, and recover from the big crafty...still working on that...
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