I love people. I want you to fully understand that. I love people.
But I have to fight this desire to go live in the woods by a lake (not a pond-- Mr. Thoreau) because sometimes I just really miss being alone with myself.
I need cave time. I need time where I can be a stranger in a place. I need time where I can be unrecognized in a place. I need time to dream and write and talk out loud to myself. Maybe that is why I have been driven back to the page. Perhaps that is why all writers are driven to the page.
It's been a few months since I've written with such candor. Life that was once at a stand still picked up speed to a whirlwind and here I am amidst the debris-- checking to be sure my red slippers are still on my feet and also noticing that I'm not in Kansas anymore.
Has that ever happened to you? A few months go by and suddenly you realize through all of the moving and shaking you feel like you have been scooped up and moved into a completely different season in life. It's not like you got a letter in the mail that said, "Hey, we're moving you out pretty soon. You should get ready." It feels more like a friendly kidnapping, where along the way somehow you agreed to it-- not knowing what you were agreeing to.
But you chose the path less traveled, or so you thought, and here you are.
Thanks Dorothy Parker, Here We Are.
I have my bed (or mattress) and comforter, a cup of coffee and a computer. The rest of my habitation is in utter disarray. There are boxes half full and a floor half empty and clothing that has been abandoned to lie in uncomfortable and compromising positions rendering them wrinkled and distorted. Like Still Life Installation: My Bedroom in Moving. Except that it is not pleasing to the eye. But art wasn't meant to feel clean.
And neither was life. I want life wrapped in blue ribbon, like a present waiting to be opened. And then I disagree with myself because I have a better thought. (Leave room for thoughts in progress, a period is not final. EE Cummings had it right when he broke grammar rules to make a point).
I want life as nature sits in Fall. The wind is blowing and the leaves are changing. Nothing is tidy nor clean; everything is in its place.
