I took a look around earlier this week at some blogs I used to follow more regularly and was shocked at their large followings. Because most of the people who follow blogs don't read them every day or even after a few weeks, you have to reach a critical mass of a hundred or more before you can count on getting comments on every single thing you post, even if it's the blog equivalent of a comment about the weather (or an actual post about the weather). It's at that point it becomes a conversation. I can't help but write but it's even richer to have a conversation, someone to answer when I speak.
I'm in one of those times when there's a lot processing in the cranium but much of it hasn't been assigned any words yet. So I'm taking a break. A break from trying to describe my fascination with and guarded distrust of my boss, my stalemate with my whiny ass co-worker, my resignation over my relationship status, my strange envy of anyone having regular sex-not because I don't like sex, but because I don't want sex with people I barely know, and thus shouldn't envy them because they don't have anything I actually want. Add to that my recognition of how quickly this time in Philly is slipping away from me. I will not have even seen a show at the theater down the street from me if I don't make a point of doing so pretty soon. Oh city of broken ankles, illness, and hostile homeless men, the clock is ticking. I may already have less than a year left with you. Where shall I go next?
I finally watched Slumdog Millionaire. Good movie. I want my life to be like that in love, for every experience to yield fruit in such a beautiful way. Like it is written. Like it all matters. This sitting in my bed tapping away, the boy, the ankle, all seven moves, tonight in my PJ's at OG's house (having pulled me away from a Say Yes to the Dress marathon to watch Slumdog Millionaire)... All these things propelling me toward something my heart has always longed for and has never forgotten.
No comments:
Post a Comment