You can cheat life, sometimes death,
But it always catches up on you.

We were all made with a purpose.
We might spend our lives looking for it;
Reading between lines, over-analysing signs and hints,
Steering situations to
Where we where we want to be.

Sometimes we spend our lives trying to bury
The could-haves; with ought-tos.

*
The gossamery souls
Fragile but always seeking seeking.
Let violet shine through, let it.
*
When did it happen?
So suddenly, unveiling so slowly.
It started just over one thousand and ninety-five days ago.
Like the Hiroshima,
Her world blown apart,
Only to reveal,
A resilience of humankind, of what was meant to be.
*

Dizzying day of spinning in teacups and space crafts made for ages 10 and below,
Crunching ice laden with the sticky goodness of palm sugar.
Giggling like kids again,
Flyaways sticking to sweaty cheeks.
That made me think of spring and how much gelato and skipping that used to mean.

*

Of late the ability to focus has been - at best - pathetic.
I'd find myself fluttering from task to task,
Unable to keep still;
Incapable of Capricorn sensibility.

*

Reading the news on Mondays really makes me sad.
Not in a sigh-of-empathy kind of sad;
But the choking-back-tears kind.
Too many dead/ blind/ broken/ raped/ homeless/ hungry/ lonely souls.
If only someone could promise them that things would get better.

*

A short piece from NY Times that I thought had some much truth in it:

I mostly stopped eating. My mother mostly stopped eating. My father tried to encourage us to take a few bites at each meal.

My days were spent in a dark haze. I fantasized about accidental death. While driving I would think, "How fast would I need to go to miss the turn and hit a tree?" While walking up stairs: "What if I were to trip and fall backwards? Might I hit my head and never wake up?"

People tell near-strangers the most intimate of things.
It's nothing new, there's comfort in offloading your junk to people who won't care enough to pass it on to anyone else - or care enough to judge.
I've often played listening ear to the most unlikely of people, in the most unlikely of times.
Tonight I thought of a guy I used to work with. (Train of thought: a Catpower song came on in the car while we were driving home tonight; a tune that was featured on the playlist when we first started dating. M immediattely skipped it, like he often does when other songs from the said playlist comes up.I think the intention is to preserve the integrity of memories.)
Back to this guy from work.
Over a MSN conversation about favourite music for romance (cheesy, I know)
He told me The Smiths was particularly special in this department.
I asked him whether his wife was a big Smiths fan.
He said 'No not the wife. It's the one that got away that makes music most poignant'.
That statement sounded like it came right out of some indie rom-com. But surprise aside (at his revelation) -
I first thought about how some songs will always have a conditioned effect on your mood. I can't listen to Damien Rice's O without churning, or Gary Jules' Mad World without thinking of cold winters, or Camera Obscura without thinking of Melbourne in spring.
Then I started thinking about the consequence of that statement. Did I detect yearning? Was he still thinking about The Smiths fan? How would his wife feel about that? Is it really OK to look wistfully back at 'the one who got away'?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions. And I didn't judge then - nor will I now.

But I often think that it'd be great if we could enter new relationships wiped clean of the previous one.

I suppose that's why Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind remains one of my favourite movies (like music, movies, too remind me of certain times in my life. This one of late nights and hungover mornings, room smelling like vodka and tears).

Dreams.
Of guilt - forgetting to feed the dog. Repeated in times of uncertainty.
Of failure - to be perfect, hit the mark, ace the paper.

Lack of sleep. Nights now.
For what seems like hours after the lights go out,
I lie -
Full of unruly energy;
Thoughts racing and bouncing like pinballs,
Looking for a place to rest.

Ever so often
The block is imposed.
On being free-spirited, easy-going - generally, being nice.
Which really is an antithesis to the spirit of Christmas.
I struggle.

Some nights
I lie waiting.
For something to change and tell me it'll be ok.
That all the worry, upsets, botched cookie batches, sleeplessness, cellulite,
Will be fixed.
The mind searches for answers; and when none is satisfactory,
I think of my boxes.
Once crammed full of things we chose to stopper - anger/ disappointment/ hurt/ grief/ resentment.
Now empty and seemingly obsolete.

There are moments when you see your future flash before you.
Amidst the abysmal repetition of spreadsheet formatting, violent war of words, while watching a rom com or observing how your parents behave.
Sometimes these moments bring hope and flutters of the heart;
Other times they bring on the worry wart.

2 weeks to Christmas.
This year I feel unprepared, unwilling, uninspired.
The excitement that was there weeks ago
Has watered down to a bland mix of procrastination and quiet resentment.
In an active battle against this ridiculous state,
I baked.
Armed with my mint green spatula, iced Umeshu, Camera Obscura, and quiet time to myself.
50 macadamia-cranberry-white chocolate cookies later
I'm suitably calmer.

Feeling very much like sparkly dresses and big hair. x

Sometimes you float.
You float along,
Letting the tide sweep you from side to side,
Back and forth.
And sometimes,
You move forward;
Mostly you move nowhere.

Mostly I've found myself stumbling. Into places, roles, countries, and relationships.

Today was one of the most monumental in a while.
It was as if,
All the goodness that is usually amortised over the year,
Was delivered in a month.
I'm deeply thankful.

A few things I've been meaning to do.
Not stumble into, but
Deliberately, seek out.
A pair of white Converse is on top of the list.
This weekend,
I will get to it.