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amidthestarsAll evening I've been coming here, opening a new post, typing a few lines, and then walking away. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here.
I'm in the weirdest of spaces, in my strange little life. I feel like I've fallen into an alternate universe. Nothing I'm doing is anything I expected to be doing. 8 months ago, I was living in a different country, on the other side of the continent, immersed in a wildly different lifestyle. And I loved it, and I couldn't stay, and now I'm here and everything is different and I didn't expect to be so happy. I have no idea who I am, or who I'm becoming, and maybe I'm not supposed to think about it, but I can't help it. I want to understand.
I have no shortage of thoughts. No shortage of observations, ideas, absurd feelings (especially those), and even, these days, adventures. Actual adventures, out in the actual world which, if you know me, you know is no small thing.
But I don't know how to write about them, or, really about anything else. Maybe it's too soon. Half the time, I don't feel real. I hear myself say things and think, "Was that you?" My coworkers think I'm hilarious. I have never been hilarious in my life.
These are a few small things I know for sure: I love poetry. Especially contemporary American poetry. (If you'd like a nice thing to do today, read anything Maggie Smith has ever written but especially Good Bones and Small Shoes). Ask me about this and I will not shut up. The same goes for any of the large handful of different books I am currently reading, which is always pretty eclectic (at the moment: Maggie Nelson's "The Argonauts," Molly Wizenberg's "Delancey," Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird," a handy guide on how to be a vegetarian, and an anthology of first-person accounts of gay Catholic nuns, the title of which I will not write down because it makes the whole thing sound like porn WHICH IT IS NOT). I am a vegetarian, for reasons that started out circumstantial but ended up ethical with a touch of neurotic. I love taking photographs - I'm not great at it, but I don't think I could live without it. I really hate the word "cupboard." I can sing, but I'm usually too shy. I can do a headstand. I know almost all the Psalms by heart. I cry whenever I hear them.
I'm in the weirdest of spaces, in my strange little life. I feel like I've fallen into an alternate universe. Nothing I'm doing is anything I expected to be doing. 8 months ago, I was living in a different country, on the other side of the continent, immersed in a wildly different lifestyle. And I loved it, and I couldn't stay, and now I'm here and everything is different and I didn't expect to be so happy. I have no idea who I am, or who I'm becoming, and maybe I'm not supposed to think about it, but I can't help it. I want to understand.
I have no shortage of thoughts. No shortage of observations, ideas, absurd feelings (especially those), and even, these days, adventures. Actual adventures, out in the actual world which, if you know me, you know is no small thing.
But I don't know how to write about them, or, really about anything else. Maybe it's too soon. Half the time, I don't feel real. I hear myself say things and think, "Was that you?" My coworkers think I'm hilarious. I have never been hilarious in my life.
These are a few small things I know for sure: I love poetry. Especially contemporary American poetry. (If you'd like a nice thing to do today, read anything Maggie Smith has ever written but especially Good Bones and Small Shoes). Ask me about this and I will not shut up. The same goes for any of the large handful of different books I am currently reading, which is always pretty eclectic (at the moment: Maggie Nelson's "The Argonauts," Molly Wizenberg's "Delancey," Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird," a handy guide on how to be a vegetarian, and an anthology of first-person accounts of gay Catholic nuns, the title of which I will not write down because it makes the whole thing sound like porn WHICH IT IS NOT). I am a vegetarian, for reasons that started out circumstantial but ended up ethical with a touch of neurotic. I love taking photographs - I'm not great at it, but I don't think I could live without it. I really hate the word "cupboard." I can sing, but I'm usually too shy. I can do a headstand. I know almost all the Psalms by heart. I cry whenever I hear them.
