I'm not a slow writer. I can't split them all up into separate blogs - which in truth would be much more economical. I just throw them all out there. I'm a thrower.
Or a jumper - as it would seem.
"That's amazing, you were such a jumper." Time breeds inhibited truth. An old friend, who was not a friend at all for a while, reunited with us the way most old friends do - at a bar. The statement was her reaction to finding out I was still living in my apartment. True, my two year stay there is the longest relationship I've had aside from living at home with Mommy. The statement though - hit me in a way I wasn't expecting. I was a jumper. And immediately I missed her. The way you miss an old friend who knows you. Missed talking to her on the phone & emailing her. Back in the day when every Friday night was bar night, she was my driver. She drove and I felt safe enough to drink with her at the wheel. But like all old friends who are no longer really friends, I know that same, comfortable feeling will never be there again. And it makes me sad.
I get an email from Rachel, a photo of the wedding she was in this past summer. A best friend of hers from forever. I've been jealous a lot lately. Of families, kids and grade school friends. I wish for them more now, than I ever used to.
I spend all of Saturday alone. Running errands and such - but still alone. I come home and there's nobody there. I wake up and it's the same. The phone doesn't ring and I sit in my living room and become anxious. And at 2:30 in the morning the anxiety attacks and I crawl into bed hoping it will pass. I tell my mom it would be different if I lived elsewhere. In a big city. It doesn't feel as alone out there. I can tell she doesn't think I should focus on that. Maybe I shouldn't.
Classes annoy me and unless Spring semester is one miraculous one - I may just deem the whole idea of school a waste of time and money.
My camera has proved a good idea. I enjoy playing with it. On my first night though, I visit my grandmother and ask to take a few pics of the basement a.k.a. my grandfather's studio. But when I get downstairs, my stomach turns. They've moved everything. His easel, his desk, his paint brushes. Everything changes, but some things...well they'd do fine be left well enough alone. Nothing is where it's supposed to be and it simply doesn't look right.
If my life had a sound track, James Blunt's "tears & rain" would play on days like these...
How I wish I could walk through the doors of my mind/Hold memory close at hand/Help me understand the years...
I guess it's time I run far, far away/find comfort in pain/All pleasure's the same/it just keeps me from trouble
It's just tears & rain...