my coffee tastes like soap. i never do quite get all the suds out of the pot.
despite my scattered thoughts i feel like writing. i've spent two nights at home in the last two weeks. it's this "unsettled" life that brings peace, settlement to my soul. it's what works for me. i wouldn't have it any other way.
coming to rochester was supposed to be my chance to live a normal life, to do normal things and pay my loans off in a normal environment, under normal circumstances. i tried. i have failed, and it's been exquisite.
you look at me and say free-spirit, hippie-sort, earth day every day. it's easy to say those things, isn't it. we don't like to call it this, but we judge. how often it is that we take one glance and write a soul a mind a being before asking any sort of question that would probe a response that might reveal something, anything that might contradict or complicate the person we created. i do it. none of this is new. what's new is this:
i don't notice the way i am perceived anymore.
i spent last weekend at a monastery in the catskills. on the second day i sat in a room with a circle of writers. i missed lunch because of the need to appease a pressing urge to run. post run: i brought a plastic coffee container of hard-boiled eggs with me. after an hour or so in the same stale chair my legs began to itch for movement. i took to the floor, bringing my eggs with me. i cracked my eggs on the table in front of me, letting the shells drop back into the green container. thinking nothing of this i continued to join in the conversation, only to notice the strangest expressions coming from a few of the gathered. it made me aware. i zoomed out, looking down on the scene from a place beyond the stained white ceiling, and chuckled.
when a date becomes wandering through undiscovered forests, pointing out new buds and greens and talking about things i can't remember, i am good. when silence doesn't creep or hang but is assumed and appreciated, i have gotten somewhere.
i'm beautiful. did you know that? the things that make me different aren't done to be different, they're done to be me. i'm realizing that right now that's all i know how to be. my issues are still alive, but i'm more at rest than i've ever been before. i've accepted myself. there isn't a soul i'd rather be. there's no spirit i'd rather have. i want to change and grow and become, but i'm doing all those things.
gosh it feels good to let go. hah!