My notebooks and I used to be best friends.
We had a falling out a few years back, though I can’t remember now exactly when or why.
“I run my life
or is it running me?
Run from my past
I run too fast or too slow it seems.
This world keeps spinning faster
to a new disaster so I run to you.”
[Lady Antebellum, “I Run To You”]
The busy-ness got to me, I s’pose. Or maybe the lack of heartache and heart break?
You see, I used to fancy myself a poet of sorts. I’d fall in 12 kinds of love with a guy and two weeks later my bleeding heart bled all over every piece of paper I could get my hands on. The words would pour out of me and when all was said and done I ached. My hands ached from the scribbles … my soul … ached of emptiness. So I’d do it all over again. (Ahh, to be young and fearless again.)
But now here I am, nearly two and a half years into the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to me, and I am absolutely speechless.
Well, that’s not true. I have a lot to say, I just haven’t said any of it. Because it’s a hellofalot more fun to live the happy emotions than to write about them. And that is why, at least partially, I don’t write like I once did.
There is no heartache.
There is no heart break.
There is, however, an unprecedented amount of bullshit.
… in the form of JOBS and HOUSEWORK andohmygod we have half a fucking zoo in this house. (Damn it! When the hell did I grow up?)
I guess my new heart break is this:
I work too much, too hard, for too little, and too many sacrifices. (And I don’t have internet at home.)
—- “I run my life… or is it running me?”
Life is passing me by, every second. Every day.
—- “This world keeps spinning faster… “
This summer? Nonexistent. If it weren’t for the fires I probably wouldn’t have known it was summer at all. I shit you not.
The worst part, though, is missing out on my family. My nieces are 22 months old now. I am missing out on EVERYTHING and it kills me. Even on the weekends I have time to go see them, I don’t have the energy. There’s something about my work that takes 16 hours of energy to get 8 hours on the clock…
—- “I run from hate. I run from prejudice, I run from pessimists…”
Years ago, when my notebooks and I were best friends, negativity fueled my creativity.
And now? It’s driving me to make some serious changes.