I realized last night that I have never on my own picked my place to live. It’s been found for me or provided by others. I’ve lived with the people who found my home until they’ve left or I’ve left. Usually if I’ve left, it’s because we both left the place. I’m okay once I get the place but I feel overwhelmed by making the choice of where to live.
I don’t usually think of myself as an indecisive person. Although since Xina died it seems that I just let decisions make me. Sort of hang on until I have to let go, then hang on to the next thing until I have to let go of that. It’s clearly not a good decision making process. I feel anxious, unsure and disenfranchised.
I’ve been without my stuff for almost 3 years now. August 2015 seems like a whole lifetime ago. July 31 2016 seems like it just happened.
I have a lot of weird interests or rather I have opinions and info about a lot of things that hadn’t been regular topics of conversation before Xina. I’m interested in different things and before her I would never really talk about those things to people because I don’t want to feel like a know it all because of the broad range of my interests and the level of depth that I usually invest in them is more than surface usually. Anyway, I can’t seem to turn it off. It isn’t the topics, it was having someone want to listen to me, who wanted to be engaged in what I was interested in, rather than me doing all the listening. it was new and I liked it and I miss that.
There are days where gratitude for Xina in my life are enough to shove her absence aside for a moment and there are moments in those same days when her absence stuns me into silence.
It takes energy to swim against the tides in one’s life. To reach over and over again in a direction that sometimes opposes the flow of what has gone on before when one turns for a new path, a new thought and an old forgotten dream.
And I am tired. Tired. Tired of striving, desiring, wanting, pushing, digging, holding, waiting, hoping. Tired of effort and drive and persistence and perseverance.
I want to be here now and be done with the rest.
and can’t do it anymore.
Can’t don the cape and leotard
can’t sling the gun or roust the horses
for yet another frontier
I’m going to stay right here
awhile and decorate the hole
I’ve dug myself.
IN 1984, Lionel Ritchie released the song “Hello”. I was in high school at the time. He along with Luther Vandross, Teddy Pendergrass, and Whitney Houston had the ballads that you wanted to dance to. Anyway, during the summer of 1984, I was at a Tuskegee University Youth Program. I don’t remember how I got into it, either my mother or Upward Bound.
It was a week long program of classes in the college style. It was focused on the STEM fields. That’s about all I remember about the academics of it. That’s been almost 30 years ago. Sometimes when I think of things like this, I wish for a memory browser like in Babylon AD where that scientist attached that device to Vin Diesel’s head to take him back to the moment when Aurora blew herself up. I digress.
I just heard “Hello” on Spotify and it took me back to this moment when one of the popular boys at this thing asked me to dance to this song. In Teen Dramas, I would not be the girl that dances with the popular boy to this song. He should have asked one of the girls who hung on his every word and followed him around being damsels. I liked him; thought he was nice. I felt like Carrie being asked to the prom, though.
That is all.