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| A profession for Lindsay.
I know I may sound hesitant at times, but whenever you speak of the future in such detail that it forms before me, a future of which although made up it is always under the unspoken knowledge that nothing is certain but the two of us, I want to fold up into your arms and close my eyes until I know it has become true. Every moment of tenderness I witness or recall or hear about makes me think of you and how it could have been you that was the procurer of such goodness in the world. You see my profession is nothing new. I want only to say when I think of you I think of my future, and when I think of my future I think of you. That once my heart made the connection, the two became indelibly synonymous. Your absence has left gaps in my day in which once there were moments I could not deny your influence and smile at the fact that you are in my life because you are right there before me. Come back soon. I miss you dearly.
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| "The Kiss"
Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
On which my soul's beloved swore
That there should come a time of bliss,
When she would mock my hopes no more.
And fancy shall thy glow renew,
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night,
And none shall steal thy holy dew
Till thou'rt absolv'd by rapture's rite.
Sweet hours that are to make me blest,
Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal,
And let my love, my more than soul
Come blushing to this ardent [chest].
Then, while in every glance I drink
The rich o'erflowings of her mind,
Oh! let her all enamour'd sink
In sweet abandonment resign'd,
Blushing for all our struggles past,
And murmuring, "I am thine at last!"
Thomas Moore
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| There is a part of me that is riddled with insecurities. Whether these insecurities resulted from painful experiences or from a lack of positive responses, I am not sure. But I know that some of my insecurities unfailingly rise to the surface like oil when it rains. My insecurities fight against myself, resisting to converge with the more complete and confident side of me that wishes to accept them.
I remember hiding in the band room in seventh and eighth grade. As promised by middle school years, I felt rigidly stuck between my more carefree innocent days of bike riding and imaginative games and the years that were promised to be unforgettable. So I hid. Most people left school as soon as the bell rang out their freedom, but a handful of band geeks, myself included, would stick around for a couple hours. Some days we practiced, most often times we played bits of songs that were especially hard or naughty card games of truth or dare. On days when loneliness took hold, I would hide, sitting on the cold, over-polished tile floor of the brass equipment room after school hours. I meditated over things: why I was in there alone, how many friends I actually had, the sound of the a/c system feeding me recycled air, the number of scars I had both internally and externally. I wrote poems and stories, I cried; mostly, I waited. I was more of a thinker than doer back then, and I waited to see whether people would come to find me, hoping both that they would and that they would not.
See I was afraid of not being found because that meant no one thought I was important enough to seek out, but I was more afraid that if I was found the person would not react in the way I imagined. They would most likely just stumble upon me sitting in there alone, pathetically. And that would be that. I tried so hard to control the outcome by thinking about it over and over. In thinking about the possibilities so much I forgot to live.
And so here I am, sitting at home on a beautifully rainy day, finding myself admitting that I still have insecurities. That only every other day I believe that I can make a relationship work with someone I truly find amazing. And I worry over whose baggage is holding back whom, and why I don't have the ability to make someone care for me as deeply as I do for them, or whether I will ever mean that much, or how long I can hold onto the overwhelming feeling of knowing that I am in love. And so I hide. I hide in the shower or the nook of Lindsay's shoulder or in written words or even in tears because if I don't watch out, I feel like I will lose control of everything. But really I don't have control over anything, especially emotions. Emotions control me. And I don't want to waste any more time thinking out all the possible ways my life could enfold without me being in it. All I can do is offer support, ask for it in return, and let my insecurities go.
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| "The Way I Am" - Ingrid Michaelson
If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.
Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.
Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
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| Today is the fifth day I have experienced the "springing forward" concept of daylight savings time. In the too-quick-for-even-a-hello pace of this post-post-modern day, gaining an hour and later losing an hour does not really effect us. Is that what is to come?
Possibly it is the end of the world in 2012. I have not actually read any of the research behind this belief, it's kind of ludicrous to believe that finding words in ancient biblical scripture makes the evidence actual fact. Supposedly the inevitable collision/synchronization of intergalactic masses means astrological foreshadowing is more valid than its household sister the horoscope. Is the end of everything in a specific year more than just a belief?
Maybe I should come to terms with the relationship between the country's current economic crisis and inflation. That I play a role in the power of the dollar, however minuscule, as I sweep up the lost pennies of bar patrons into the night's trash. If only I could find myself not too lazy or disgusted by the idea of bending down and picking up the small change from the debris, I could make sure there would certainly be more to come with the money I have saved up.
Perhaps Ithaca's own rainy weather today proves what is to come. A second or is this the third day of warmth in a row in the first week of March. As the worms crawl out to die in their confusion, Spring peaks its head around the corner. Alas, if I shall not accept anything else will arrive, I should accept the coming of a warmer season with open arms!
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