I’ve spent the last two hours combing through some old files on my computer. They were once the breeding grounds of endless rough-cut outlines for stories and some semi-decent attempts at beginnings – even a few chapters worth of a plot that I still have no idea what direction it was going to take.
It’s interesting looking back at these old writings and I am bemused by some of the insightful commentary of my life at the time. Strangely, a large part of what I had written was autobiographical. A small snapshot of what I was thinking during that particular moment or an observation that I had been dying to dissect on the page.
It’s almost like reading the journal entries of an entirely different person. Some of the content borders on downright embarrassing and I am confident when I say that it will not see the light of day. But I am glad it exists, at least for me to look back upon.
There is a good chunk that I feel would be nice to post on the blog but I fear that the majority of it would be largely met with eye-rolls and shielded grins so rest assured, I will not put you through that. At least not now anyway (!) However, I wanted to at least share something and this little piece spoke to me and I thought it might be nice to allow others to muse upon my musings. I believe this was from August/September 2009.
They chew you up and spit you out and you’re left to face the rest on your own.
So don’t let them.
It’s often difficult to face the daily battles especially when the world has been drained of any colour and all you observe is various tones of grey. A boundless drizzle clings to your pale, clammy skin like unwanted kisses. But you have to dig out that old battered rain coat and wear it with pride. You’ve got to manufacture your own sunlight and you’ve got to learn how to pulverise that grey sky until it gives you some semblance of colour. Even if it means beating the absolute shit out of it. It has to come at all costs. They might not know about the turmoil and they might not understand that the prospect of putting your shoes on and greeting the day comes with its own challenges. It isn’t their fault.
It takes a little time to solve the crossword puzzle especially when the clues are so goddamn cryptic.
Three across: A bitter pill to swallow.
Nine down: Another word for dusk.
We’re not machines; we’re not programmed to react and respond in a particular way. If you hand me a pen I can’t guarantee that I won’t write a love note or an instruction manual on how to fool the world. Maybe I will just settle with a letter of apology or I’ll tell you about the time I hid under the bed for three hours too afraid to move.
The ones who wait for you are the ones you should keep. Remember their names and remember their birthdays – the small details are often the most important. And if you can wait for someone else then they will remember your birthday too. It’s all about the details, the simple things, the way we connect. And if we can apologise to the world and know that it’s true, then let it be. Let it swallow you whole and rock you to sleep. Let it consume you even if it is just for one brief, sweet moment. They might not notice that you left the room but they sure will notice when you make your return. Don’t forget their names. They won’t forget yours.
Thank you for taking the time to read and as always, I’d love to hear from you.