you've probably wondered if I've died. Or maybe you've thought "she probably forgot how to write." and maybe I've just changed. the need has shifted. My stamina waned. perhaps perhaps perhaps.
today I went to Wal-Mart. I seem to only do this when I'm moving and the pile of priorities has shifted. I went to Wal-Mart, but I only bought what I went in for.
This afternoon I talked on speaker phone while adding some more paint, although still frustrated with the amount of mud my colors seem to be making. I sat on the floor of the garage and organized paints into categories of "craft," "acrylic," and "toxic." Toxic, I must say, is still my favorite. I placed the tubes and old, worn out brushes in the plastic squares I entered Wal-Mart to purchase. Pink, Orange, and white lids seal them in before they are stacked and ready to become a part of the new adventure.
This morning, I nervously sat at a familiar too-high table in an old favorite place with red walls and lime green trim. I came back tonight to write this. But this morning-- back to this morning. I sat nervously, not even sure if I would know them when they came. I took a check in my hands and set the painting on the table. We sat. We drank the ice cold coffee. I put milk and sugar in mine-- they drank the ice black. (they call it"black," but the color of the ice was a distinctive "brown"). We talked. We exchanged tidbits of information about our backgrounds-- mine small and short, only a few details as of yet, theirs long and detailed, patterned with age-- we exchanged tidbits between akward silences, our tall mugs of iced coffee and the painting surrounded by thick molding sitting, obvious, between us on the small round table.
They drank thier coffee fast. I sipped mine slow. On with the Saturday's schedule, they stood, I said good to meet you and thank you for the eighth or ninth time. Then he picked it up, admiring it like a new child, and I watched, holding the check, holding my breath, feeling like something was expanding, growing. He carried me off into this new unknown, unimagined, unrequested world.
I packed a few boxes today after driving around sweating. Rushing downtown, to the gas station, down a well-worn road to see an old friend of sorts-- my hairdresser-- I contemplated how to spend my time, if I should give any money to the corporate giant, if I should treat myself a $14 peice of silver that I've been covetting, the silver that adorns the fingers that type this very thing, contemplated if I should come home and make myself write the lesson plans that I've been putting off week after week. I decided on another tomorrow that I will most likely regret tomorrow when I want to drive up the canyon to dip my toes in the water.
Do you ever feel like your life is on the verge of taking off soon soon soon. You've crossed your fingers for a few hours and you just dream dream dream. Dream about that new environment. Wonder what your new bedroom will be like, hoping that everything will fit as nicely as it does now. Wondering if your old pillows will match the couch and the wall color.
Bittersweet. I packed up my paints tonight and began to think about how I'm only 22 and yet it feels like an era of my life is changing in huge ways. looking at the snow shovel and garden rake in the garage that i bought with a roommate for our house and wondering if I'll need it now and what we'll do with it. Suddenly I feel glad that we only spent a dollar for them at that garage sale. We joke about how we'll split things up in the "divorce,"-- but honestly realize that it might just be that hard.
I'm caught between excited and sad sad sad. Change change change. Coming to that place again when the old must die for the new to begin. And I have no idea what lies ahead for me. but the wind feels quite new and oh-so-different. Fresh and frightening.
