This is an effort to keep busy. This is an effort to get things done in advance. This is an effort to think clearly, if poetically, about the requirements of the next few days.
Tonight, we’ll visit the House of the Rising Sun. Setting Sun. Neither of those are the right references. I think I’m digging for Pearl S. Buck and coming up empty. I’m going to my Aunt’s house where all is a bit more powerful. I’m being thoughtful today, feeling meta, guessing at a bigger picture and feeling stronger about my place in it. I’m wanting more. I have to write something tonight and I’m finding it challenging. I feel like not just five years away from the person who started this daily journaling project. I feel a thousand years away, pulling at threads, pulling out boxes, locked up ideas, emotions I’d consigned to others. I feel like…fucking hell, I’ve invented a new color. Everyone said ROY G. BIV was what we had to work with and I’ve come up with !. And this is nothing but a weird beginning, a formless space I’m occupying while all of these alterations move me to new meridians, new coordinates on a new map.
I don’t like it or trust it, but I know that it’s right. Is this faith? It’s a weird feeling, I don’t know if that’s its name. Hope? I don’t trust that this is any better than mooning over someone on the internet whom I will never, even if I hoped and prayed, would be able to meet. I don’t trust that a connection has more benefit to me than a crush, but I think I realize now that I don’t have enough evidence to compare. I just want to go there and see. It’s just like Florence. It’s just like every journey I’ve ever undertaken on my own. The wise old crone cannot compute this. She is wildly uncomfortable with the possibilities and wants me to step behind her good sense and not risk the idea that this is going to throw the status quo out of the fucking window. Because if it’s not this one guy, the idea’s started now and it’ll be someone else unless she has her way and I never date again. A possibility, but so unnecessary, such a waste.
I have bought a dress online which may be too big and might have been a bad idea. It may go back as soon as I get it. I have no idea. I just wanted a dress. I wanted to feel a best foot put forward. Because, if I had my druthers, of course, a thousand days of dieting documented here would have stuck. A thousand haircuts and dye jobs would be settled on my head. A thousand books would have been read, a thousand steps would have been taken towards a greater share of the perfection I hold as my personal goal.
He said thank you for not disengaging. I felt something then, somewhere.