Sometimes my life is pain. Most of the time it isn’t. Some of the time it is amazing, wonderful, brilliant.
I am thankful for all of it.
There is a book I have recently put together a rough edition of – I’m in the midst of re-working it into the Apple word processor, Pages, which I just bought – which comes close to being a book I have long strived to put together. That isn’t what I put it together for, and it will probably require either some heavy editing and reworking or a twist of fate before it can see the light of day as the book I am thinking it may represent. You see, I’ve long wanted to write a book I could put in someone’s hands, some person who doesn’t yet know me, which when they had read it would teach them the bulk of my background and personality in one fell swoop. I don’t think I can be abbreviated effectively into a 250 word summary or into the dozen or fewer words given to describe me when I am introduced in person. I’m not sure I’m well abbreviated into the 550-page book I’m fighting formatting these recent weeks, either, but there’s certainly a lot more room for me in there than in other formats. As the book stands now, it is not suitable to thrust into the hands of a virtual stranger for the purpose of introducing them to me, though I plan to share it with some recently-made acquaintances and expect a similar result – I expect them to learn a great deal about me by its reading.
Do you expect to learn a great deal about me by reading this?
No one asks me about the ring on my finger. Not even the ones that know she dumped me over a month ago. Which may be a good thing; I’m not sure I know a true thing about it worth answering. I expect I’d ramble about one thing or another, about it just feeling right to still be wearing it, that the love I put it on for has not diminished, nor my commitment to it, or worse, if I were trying to cover something up, or make it appear I was, I might ramble about it representing my continued belief in and commitment to love itself. The ring on the left ring finger says, has always said, I am not looking for love — I already have it. I always will. Just like the ring says, “REAL LOVE IS FOREVER”
Last night I wrote an email, nearly three thousand words long, and without looking back at it I can say I feel like I didn’t adequately express what I had intended to. In fact, the key point, the most important one, I am still unsure of how it is possible to express in words. A change in my perspective, added to my old one, that …shifted everything for me. Broke me again, but perhaps in a good way. Threw me into the past, in a way – not my own past, but someone else’s – I had thought I was in their future, but now I can see I may simply be forever in their past. If you’d told me before the change that what I see now may be the case might have been the case, I would expect that its realization would be like a blow, a weight, a loss, a painful thing for me to try to cope with – it isn’t. I am trying now to say what I could not say last night because I could not find the words, and I am still not sure I am being clear. Of course, to everyone but the one I emailed, I am pretty sure this is just more lessness, but … here… I had said it at the time and now I have the right to mean it even though I am not allowed to say it here with all the detail I would like: I am thankful. I wish I could say more. I am thankful.
I wish I could say more.
So many paragraphs, posts, I write or think to write, and censor.
I must do what I say I will do, I must keep my word, or what worth am I, what worth is my word?
I wish I could say more.
I bought a new paper notebook for writing in the other night, and three more new ones last night. Imagine all the words I will write down there. All the freedom of expression I am afforded where the lie of privacy allows me to write the things that are on my heart and mind without breaking my word or potentially upsetting anyone. When this vow is over, someday, maybe I’ll show you what I’m writing there. Not tonight.