I’m failing. I’m becoming numb to the rest of oblivion. I’m responsible, yet irresponsible. I’m behind on most everything even if I’m still moving forward. Life at a standstill.
The collection of notebooks scattered across my reality gives but a tiny fraction of a window to where I’ve been. Pieces of me. But never a full look see.
Once upon a time, I was just as scattered as the scrawlings in these notebooks. The parables and lessons.. all building up to the greater destination which ultimately may never be arrived at- me.
Like a quilt, woven woven.. handcrafted by the people in my life more than myself.. I wonder what the visual tapestry would be if it ever so existed.
The world of double lives.. multiple identities because maybe, just maybe, you’re a little afraid of that person staring back at you in the mirror. Is there such a thing as confidence through self doubt?
The thing about this particular book is that I can open it and randomly point my finger in it and learn something about myself. Each entry brings me back to relive the moment. I have a few blogs that I do that with as well. Some that never made it here. Some that are waiting the right time for their day to be shown to the world.
They are tales of the heart. Of where I’ve been. Of where I’m going. Of the spectrum of passion I’ve left in my memory like a plane writing messages in the sky. My marriage is dead. My children are gone. I have very little.
“My uncle can rant about the sun god.. & talk about not having enough money living on $200/day and how that’s not good enough…”
But what I do have are these stories. When I die, I’m not sure what I want done with these books. Different theories run around my head. Burn them? Let everyone read them and then burn them? Bury them in a time capsule? Or give them to one person for safe keeping?
Sometimes I have very little faith in people.
“I figured it out! You want to know why I smoke? Drink? Write? Do art? Because with this family… there’s never such a thing as enough of an escape.”
Others.. I feel such moments of levity that all the hurt and pain of it all seems worthwhile.
“Wow is this what you were trying to tell me? When you said wait because someday something so much more amazing than you could even ever imagine will come your way. To be patient…
This is surreal. Pinch me.
Will they live happily ever after?
i wish. i wish. i wish.
“i love looking through this & seeing despite how mature i am, i still feel the same.”
“Of everything that I don’t know who I am..I know this:
I am a vessel for life’s experiences. I need the ocean to wash away with me. There is a purpose to all these trials and tribulations. The cause is love. I am a character that rarely gets forgotten. Black and white… yet full of undeniable color.”
And so it goes. The stream of consciousness ever constant. Where life will take me and what will get scrawled on these pages in both the digital, handwritten, and etheral worlds, I don’t know. I don’t want to know yet. Because the journey is half the fun but the destination.. when it’s yourself..
I shall give you pieces of me. I’m not sure if I’ll ever give you the full me.
Once upon a time there was a girl with a story.. and she lived it instead of telling it.
And she lived.. happily through the pain.. but still kept going afterward.