perfection.
last night i rediscovered perfection. it's been hot lately. fresh out of the shower, my skin gets clammy. the air in my apartment is still and sticky. night time brings little relief. in fact, it seems to only get hotter in my apartment when it hits 11pm. sleep comes hard. but last night it cooled off for the first time in a week. really cooled off. i climbed into my bed next to my open window and was surprised by the cool touch of my sheets. i had forgotten how lovely a cool, cotton sheet feels. i snuggled down under my cold sheet and blankets and slept easily.
it's strange that cool sheets make me feel cozy. it wasn't hot. they didn't give me relief from heat. but they felt good. it made me think of the goose bumps i get in my hot car. it's black, so the expanse of reflective silver i put in my windshield does little to prevent it from pulsating heat waves on a hot summer day. when i step in on such a day, i close the door and sit for a moment in the breathless heat of the car, watching goose bumps raise on my arms. chills from the heat. i fill my lungs with that hot air and shut my eyes and something in me lets go.
31 August 2005
30 August 2005
write.
this often happens. i write in my journal. regularly. explore ideas and thoughts and experiences. try to understand myself. and then. silence. sometimes years of it. they always seem to happen when life becomes hardest. when perhaps i need to be writing the most. fleshing out my problems. ranting. weeping. laughing hysterically over odd little things that jolt me out of my funk and make me know, again, that life is good and lovely and beautiful.
it is time to break silence again. one of my best friends told me once that to write is to think. that without writing, one cannot think. i don't know how absolute that statement is, but in some way it is right. i would add that to converse is to think. i have existed thinking only in spurts. randomly. when compelled to because i'd rather converse with my friends than sit a sullen lump. but lately i have realized how much i miss thinking. all the time. hard, laughing, wailing, rigorous, silly, exhilerating, mundane thinking.
so i will write.
this often happens. i write in my journal. regularly. explore ideas and thoughts and experiences. try to understand myself. and then. silence. sometimes years of it. they always seem to happen when life becomes hardest. when perhaps i need to be writing the most. fleshing out my problems. ranting. weeping. laughing hysterically over odd little things that jolt me out of my funk and make me know, again, that life is good and lovely and beautiful.
it is time to break silence again. one of my best friends told me once that to write is to think. that without writing, one cannot think. i don't know how absolute that statement is, but in some way it is right. i would add that to converse is to think. i have existed thinking only in spurts. randomly. when compelled to because i'd rather converse with my friends than sit a sullen lump. but lately i have realized how much i miss thinking. all the time. hard, laughing, wailing, rigorous, silly, exhilerating, mundane thinking.
so i will write.
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