Showers are nice.
They always provide some kind of illusion that everything can be avoided if you just stay in there long enough. That somehow, adding a dime-sized amount of shampoo can wash away your dilemmas. Showers also make you think that you're deep... because while you're in them, you kind of are. Or at least I am, since I need to get the drain unclogged. All jokes aside, though, never underestimate the epiphanies you get while showering. I'm convinced the best ideas have come from them. Today in mine, I didn't have an epiphany but more of a crises. My other half has gone away, to the other half of the world. This prompted the question, have I ever actually spent an entire week living by myself? Maybe that's impressive or some would say (some being my husband, most likely) that it's sad. He would say that because he believes that knowing who you are when you're alone is important. I've never known how to feel about the subject, so I generally try to avoid it. I think that I feel conflicted when I'm alone. Not just living alone, but just generally being by myself. I have the strange sensation of wanting to lay there and do nothing, waiting almost like a machine for another human to come by and press an "on" button to wake me up, and wanting to produce any amount of creative byproducts of my boredom and perplexed emotions. Several thoughts came to me in the shower: 1) It's too quiet. I should go do some work at a coffee shop... around other people. 2) Maybe I should play guitar. It's too quiet. I'm starting to feel sad. 3) It's too quiet. Or more of one thought, I guess. I decided to start writing. This is my first post. I used to have a blog before I met my husband. Of course, it's long gone lost in the deep rubble of Myspace, so I'd rather not try to find it and I most definitely have no interest in reading my 9th grade struggles. I also had a journal, that stopped being touched shortly after and I started dating my husband. I look at it sometimes and feel guilty like its some kind of animal that I never got around to feeding and as a result its either dead or it hates me. I don't know why I stopped writing. I wonder if it's because I stopped having a need to express my thoughts since I had someone who would just listen to them unconditionally? Maybe my style of creativity thrives only when I'm feeling lonely so I hold onto a medium like music or writing like a crutch to keep me interested in the world...
0 Comments
|
To myself: No promises that this won't cease to be a priority after two days.
Archives |