I wasn’t ready for the snow. I pictured myself at home with nothing better to do than sleep in as it was falling, but instead I’m too busy to enjoy it. Now there’s nothing left of the snow that has fallen, cause fate seems to be conspiring with the weather to make this Christmas anything but white.
Unfortunately, this is when I need to be buried under snow. I’m convinced the winter will wash everything away, and I’ll emerge clean again.
I don’t know what to do with myself lately. Ever since Will was born, catch-up time with ____ has been a call he gives me every now and then between methods of public transportation as he makes his way home from work. I just want to talk to someone and have their undivided attention, cause it’s the old habits I miss the most, the late nights when you’d rather stay in someone’s company than sleep. But the only people who understand are also the people with their own lives, and too often I’m left to my own devices.
As a result, I’ve been feeling vulnerable. I hold myself back from reaching out to the wrong arms, the ones who touch my face and drag their nails across my skin, the ones with familiar smells and comforting weaknesses, the ones who appreciate the things I want to be appreciated for, but none of whom can give me what I need.
I’m sure I’d feel as lonely as ever if I wasn’t so over-stimulated and ready to be by myself for a while. This probably won’t happen until some point during the holidays, and even then, I had plans on catching up on personal projects and chores I can only bring myself to do once a year1. Maybe this is adults mean when talk about how time passes more quickly when you’re older.
I’m in between places now, unsure of where I am or where I’m headed. But at the very least, I know what I’ve been through and what’s behind me.
- i.e. Cleaning the floorboards and walls of the house. [↩]