Half Past a Freckle

I feel like I can't write as much as I need to.  I can talk all day long but writing gets tricky.  Ray Bradbury tells me to write at least one thing every day.  How exhausting.  As if having all these thoughts running through my head wasn't enough, now I have to express them coherently?  My brain says no thank you but my heart calls out to the old typewriter sitting in my dining room that I have yet to get a ribbon for.  It needs some use, as I can only assume that's what all the great writers typed on.  I envision some great masterpiece having been typed on that very machine and it makes me smile.  As if the ceremony of using something so archaic to churn out a piece of literature in this day and age makes it a little sweeter.  I think it does and I have to say I am in love with the notion.  Makes me feel like I am going back to something more honest and intimate.  All of this new technology that I use to express myself is almost too immediate.  The patience it takes to sit through the incessant clamor of the keys as they strike the paper is definitely something not everyone is born with.  I feel myself gravitating toward slower things, even noticing a shift in my speed at mundane tasks I used to rush through.

Maybe I finally came to the conclusion that as long as I'm living and breathing, there's not much that I will miss.  I should write about that.

As the days draws to an end

I find myself reevaluating every last thing in my life and for the first time, I can't find a single thing to complain about.  It truly is the most bizarre turn of events. Driving down the road today, I thought about many things.  I thought about how green the trees along Mopac are right now, how enchanting the the jasmine popping up everywhere smell, how springtime in austin is quite possibly the most fulfilling place to be.  I thought about my amazing friends and how they have become the family I have so longed for my entire life.  How I hope they know how much I love each and every one of them and I hope that I give them half of what they give me.  If I can accomplish that, I will die a happy woman, whether I meet Willie Nelson or not.

As the day drew on, and I picked up my beautiful little boy, I began to think about how all the choices I've made in life, good or bad, led me to that exact spot, driving down Red River blaring Ophelia as Tristan attempted to sing along and I came to the conclusion that I should have arrived at far sooner----I am exactly where I want to be.  Maybe I'm not where I thought I'd be or doing what I thought I'd be doing because, frankly, I never imagined doing half of what I'm doing now and if I look back to the girl I was when I imagined this scenario, I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground.  It's quite humbling to realize that no matter how much you try and try to be self-destructive, that little voice inside of you that tells you to follow your dreams and listen to yourself and no one else somehow manages to be the loudest one you hear. 

So as this day draws to an end, and I sit on my patio enjoying the breeze that speaks to me in a language only I understand, I am banking on the fact that when I wake up tomorrow morning, I will feel precisely the same way, because I will choose to.