This should be Rumination 13, but hey, like much else in my life; we all know how that will go.
I will start by admitting I don’t exercise this catharsis as much as I used to; unfortunately, there have come to be a greater number of eyes on these places than before. I would chalk it up to anxiety, however, even I remember those days before, when this space was more frequented than ever.
So, let’s dive in.
I’m in a rather strange place. A few interesting turns of events have somehow dropped me into the midst of people I never knew about and somehow now do. More personal attacks have put upon me choices I have dreaded for longer than I remember. The last eight months have dredged up memories I would rather leave in the past.
Until a few months ago, I would have called this the worst year of my life, no matter how adamantly I attempted to salvage it.
I can’t now. Too much has happened. To call it the worst would mean there was nothing to be learned from the fires burning around me. To label it so would be giving the world too little credit. And blatantly denying the fact there are four whole years of my life lost to God knows what, because I just CAN’T REMEMBER.
I have met, in this three quarter done year, the strongest and hardest working people I will ever know. I have met people who’ve told me that a stranger has given them a bit of happiness. I’ve re-introduced myself to everyone that once knew me. Lost something and someone I’d held very dear, but didn’t treat as if they were dear to me. Lost something I hated and, for some reason, feel it’s void more strongly than anything else.
I opined about two pink totes and a suitcase. Begged for the chance to live without ties to anyone or thing. Labored over my life’s work. Now I’m sitting at a keyboard struggling my way through a rumination that would have once taken maybe twenty minutes.
I’m still excited. I’m still crazy enough to believe I can do those wonderful and crazy things I’ve always imagined. I know I can’t do them alone. But I know that if I keep screaming into the void long enough, someone out there will hear me. And one voice will become two, until the voices become so deafening that I won’t need to scream anymore.
See, wanders like me, we’re temporary. We show up to tell you the tide can be changed, but you do the changing; in the process you change us. We’re not the leaders, those are born among you.
So, until next time, stay good and keep transmitting.
I will start by admitting I don’t exercise this catharsis as much as I used to; unfortunately, there have come to be a greater number of eyes on these places than before. I would chalk it up to anxiety, however, even I remember those days before, when this space was more frequented than ever.
So, let’s dive in.
I’m in a rather strange place. A few interesting turns of events have somehow dropped me into the midst of people I never knew about and somehow now do. More personal attacks have put upon me choices I have dreaded for longer than I remember. The last eight months have dredged up memories I would rather leave in the past.
Until a few months ago, I would have called this the worst year of my life, no matter how adamantly I attempted to salvage it.
I can’t now. Too much has happened. To call it the worst would mean there was nothing to be learned from the fires burning around me. To label it so would be giving the world too little credit. And blatantly denying the fact there are four whole years of my life lost to God knows what, because I just CAN’T REMEMBER.
I have met, in this three quarter done year, the strongest and hardest working people I will ever know. I have met people who’ve told me that a stranger has given them a bit of happiness. I’ve re-introduced myself to everyone that once knew me. Lost something and someone I’d held very dear, but didn’t treat as if they were dear to me. Lost something I hated and, for some reason, feel it’s void more strongly than anything else.
I opined about two pink totes and a suitcase. Begged for the chance to live without ties to anyone or thing. Labored over my life’s work. Now I’m sitting at a keyboard struggling my way through a rumination that would have once taken maybe twenty minutes.
I’m still excited. I’m still crazy enough to believe I can do those wonderful and crazy things I’ve always imagined. I know I can’t do them alone. But I know that if I keep screaming into the void long enough, someone out there will hear me. And one voice will become two, until the voices become so deafening that I won’t need to scream anymore.
See, wanders like me, we’re temporary. We show up to tell you the tide can be changed, but you do the changing; in the process you change us. We’re not the leaders, those are born among you.
So, until next time, stay good and keep transmitting.
Escapades of a Bored Writer 
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