some things of note that have happened over the last month:
what is there to say right now? it's 5 p.m., and it's fully dark outside. the price of living on the east coast and in a nation that holds on to tradition long after its use has evaporated out of it, if it were ever even there. it's cozy at night, but the older i get the more i appreciate the miracle of spring.
that yes, we lived, and made it through the darkest times. i feel a connection to those who lived hundreds of years ago for whom survival was an actual question. i have a radiator... not a cure for seasonal affective disorder but y'know, pretty nice.
i've been writing music again to refill the cup of my heart after it was shattered so carelessly ("our love is spilling, waiting here for you to take and drink of.") forgiveness isn't always an option but forgetfulness is and i am so glad to let him comfortably exist on the dustiest shelf in the back of my mind. no longer afraid of it; not even needing to throw it away.
ah. okay.
so much of my outward life is going well, but that always seems to be at the expense of my interior space: my peace and my love for creation. i just lose energy to emails. such bullshit. i never was very good at balancing anything, ever. and it feels so late to be learning.
oh! another thing that happened was that i turned twenty-eight and i came to terms with my age. so many years stretch out before me (in a perfect world) and i want to ensure each of them can mean something. cliche, perhaps, but as my mother says things are cliche for a reason.
god but then i say these things and i'm reminding myself that i'm living through the genocide of an entire group of people. how does any of my tiny life matter? i know it must, on some level, or I have to believe it does, or i'll only want to die. but how can i care about the "look and feel" of this site, or social media posts about stupid awards, or making banana bread or going on a date or anything else.
i wish there was a way i could even be performative, because it seems nothing matters, not even pastiche.