These past two weeks have been spent in perfect panic trying to get everything pulled together for my trip next week. How can so much have happened in eleven days?
I think the only thing that has been helping me get through it is talking to friends who seem genuinely happy for me and glad to help in any way that they can. I went far too long without allowing myself to experience what it felt like to be in relationships where the responsibilities are equal. I’m still learning to ask for help.
I have been keeping the company of men: Bob Dylan, Nick Drake, and The Coal Men, too. The lyrical refrain in my mind is “I guess it was up to me.”
In between the running sprints, I’ve been doing a lot of writing, mostly trying to get articles together for Pulse. I turned in my last review and editorial on Sunday, and I hope to write some articles while I’m away.
I plan on focusing most of my energy on writing, as that is one desire that always seems to get pushed into the background. I am going to write for myself first and formost, and anything that comes from that will be extra. While reading my name in print is still an incredibly gratifying experience, what I truly want seems very far away. However, any excuses I once had are now completely removed. Time is no longer a factor. Neither is my responsibility to others. I can’t imagine what that freedom will feel like.
I’ve asked my sister to come and visit me while I’m away. She is a talented artist, and, like me, has watched her dreams be deferred by life. But I think she and I both realized what a waste it was, and I hope we are both done with sacrifices. They are not noble, and no one ever says, “Look at the martyr. How beautiful she is.”
There are some things I am worried about, but I have written enough for now. There is too much to do and little time to do it.
“…and my friends, my friends,
they all whisper hello.
We all know what we know, it’s a hard swath to mow
when you think like a hermit you forget what you know.
You were always on my mind.”
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