existential

This weekend I’ve done a lot of thinking and yes, believe it or not, even more writing. Sunday usually involves sitting at a cafe, in my journal, letting the pen loose. But this weekend, Memorial Weekend, has me thinking of what started me back with my words two and a half years ago, as I tried to replace all the pain that was inside of me with words in hopes it would heal me.  And it also has me feeling so incredibly fortunate, so incredibly past that place in my life where I once stood.

I began my blog with Camus…

You cannot create experience. You must undergo it.

I know of only one duty, and that is to love.

Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.

We are all special cases.


And today, the sun is returning, and things are warm, and I sit here, legs smashed under me in my big chair, big black boots and white girlie skirt with my extraordinarily old Godfathers tour shirt (for those dipshits who buy tour shirts at stores well after the show, or even worse, at ‘vintage’ stores for $150…mine’s real…they opened for Love and Rockets in 1989 and I have that shirt as well, so don’t even ask me ‘where’ I got it…sheesh!  giggle…).  Had a lovely eggs benedict and coffee with a girlfriend and now am off to gather eggs next door, possibly take a bike ride, or perhaps just zone out in the backyard on the chaise, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood and maybe an old cassette tape in the super rad boom box.  I’m seriously contemplating making bread (I love having my hands in a giant bowl of dough, kneading it, tucking it away to rise, and coming back to punch it down and knead it again…and that first slice, right out of the oven, perfection….).  I tell myself I should go visit my grandmother and immediately my legs are filled with lead and I am wanting to hibernate again.  It’s a good sunny day which means it’s a great day to stay in and make love and take a nap afterwards, but that being said, and that not being on my list of possibilities, I shall instead get off my duff and mosey down the street to my local nursery and see if they have some hostas (I love their big sexy leaves, can’t explain it).  I shall put my big black sunglasses on, maybe even my kerchief, and I shall enjoy every bit of the sunshine.  And whatever I do I shall love these moments where I feel just so, where I know that with everything that has happened since my words entered blogland, that it’s a damn better place to be now than it was then.  And hell, that’s all I can ask for, right?

Well, that and a new roof for me house…

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