Returning to my blog after about two months of having gone MIA on its’ ass is testament to how much I have matured. Jokes. There has been no maturing,
except with regards to my sexual appetite. TMI? Regardless, I have returned to something I have neglected.
Transitions are the few months that creep up on us with outlines of trees, and seashells, and abstract shapes that you may never be quite able to identify, which allow, nay, force you to fill in that shit like a coloring-book. Except, when life throws you coloring-book sketches, it often forgets to throw you a box of crayons. Maybe Life is just that considerate so as not to hit you in the head, or maybe Life doesn’t care unless you give It a reason to. Nevertheless, bitch needs her coloring utensils!
You rummage about your past and your desired future, hoping to discover anything that can help you fill in those sketches. If you’re lucky, you might find a Sharpie, or an almost-used-up highlighter.
I’m confused, I’m uncertain, I have cut loose all ties that have hindered my growth, however hard and courageous that may seem. I have written an article entitled 10 Things One Should Know About Dating A Compulsive Liar. I have finally begun to perform. I started babysiting two brothers, ages four-and-a-half, and nine, whose naivete have taught me more about life and the importance of humility than I could have possibly acquired from any other source. I have filled my days with tasks and errands and obligations, in part to better myself and maintain control of my life; and in part to teach myself how to survive in a world in which we are brought into, and depart, alone.
I am testing the waters; testing my surroundings. Seeing how far I can push before everything collapses. Trying to discover my limits as to what I can rebuild, and whether or not the foundations will be stronger this time around. I allow myself to test the people who claim to still love me, and I question whether love really has anything to do with a specific two people, or whether it is all based on timing. By utilizing every tool under the sun to pushing away the people who claim to love me through acting childish; using malicious words that hurt them below the belt; taking advantage of the attention they give me to see if they will stop giving me said attention; I try to discover if certain feelings can, in fact, surpass even the most awful attempts against them.
If you can kick and scream and threaten, and act like you are trying to hurt someone, and have them acknowledge that you are inadvertently asking them to look at your attempts with a certain adoration, and understand that all you want is proof that they know you well enough to understand what you are doing; then perhaps the world doesn’t work as predictably as is presumed.
This transition is about having Life humor me by introducing facts and information and successes and feelings that I haven’t yet felt. Just when you think you have felt and seen everything there is to feel and see, a bird shits on your arm and you are forced to turn the around, wash it off whilst cussing under your breath, perhaps leading you to bump into another destination clad with feelings that you didn’t know existed.
Transitions are a scary thing. Being proactive is the surest way to maintaining a sense of self during such difficult times. An optimistic outlook is surely the mechanism with which to guide us to our next phases in life. I am proactively waiting in anticipation and excitement. Something amazing is just around the corner.
My head hurts, I’m out.
And of course, in case you didn’t get the memo, you can catch my melodic ass here :