Imminence

http://s34.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2D2ZBJUJ1P8WN14W7K9Q299441

My life is about a second after imminence (which I read is a constant feeling in many women's lives). I'm *there*.

I feel annoyingly arrogant when I try to convey my spiritual fulfillment on lj. It's because I'm inept at describing the good stuff. I can be angsty well. Unfortunately for my lovely lyrical livejournal, I've just no reason lately. Back to laundry-lists, I suppose.

People make me happy. Things make me happy. Events make me happy. I make me happy. Music makes me happy. Sex makes me happy. Food makes me happy. Money makes me happy. Helping people makes me happy. The city makes me happy. Plants make me happy. Cold toes make me happy. Showers make me happy. Aquariums make me happy. Ridiculousness makes me happy. Words make me happy. The way air swishes past shower-warm skin when someone walks behind me makes me happy. The vibration of the computer speakers through the keyboard and thus my fingertips as they play REM makes me happy. Making food makes me happy. Friends make me happy. Communication makes me happy. Meditative internal monologues make me happy. My boss makes me happy. Potential makes me happy. Escapism makes me happy. Adventure makes me happy. Home makes me happy.

I am happy.

Just think, I could have put each of those on a seperate line.

Form Without Content

It's morning. I slept a split night last night -- 8:30-10:30pm, then 2-8am. It seems to have worked very well for me. I'm serene, rested, with a little tiny edge of tired left. I feel entirely grounded, complete unto myself, a whole thing wrapped around in warm skin and chilly basement air.

I have no content for this post. There's nothing to share here, but I like the act of writing. I could say to you: Tillie and I have decided that there will, indeed, be girls at Juggler's party. I could say to you: I like the snow when it lies thickly. I could say to you: I updated my interests list in lj, and it makes a lovely poetry to read the things I like simply, in words.

None of those things would be the point of this.

My mornings have been oddly nonexistent of late. I wake late and rush off. I wake early and struggle, a little, to sleep. Now it's morning again and I'm here inhabiting it, inhabiting that cool air and filtered grey light rising through the windows in the morning silence. Times like this are made for little quiet intimacies, shared cups of tea and silverware clinking, hushed conversations and the lingering warmth of a shared bed stored in one's core. They're made for listening to the cars pass slowly, for wriggling toes to keep them from becoming too cold and perhaps even tucking them under flesh.

This is what I should be doing now, perhaps. The knowledge of it is enough, right now-- I don't need to act with such a clear sense of the fitness of things. I would like to act upon it, soon. I remember breakfasts of pancakes with you, CrazyChris, that felt right in this time.

Last night I lost my skin. I was lying there in bed and it came off and I fell out into the world around me, still a thing, still Greenstorm, but without any distinction between my edges and the other things around me-- Juggler, the bed, the sheets, the air, the book, the house, the city full of people, the world. I couldn't find my edges, I couldn't define my skin. I lay there quietly until I slept. In a previous time I would have cried because this is the opposite of loneliness, and I have been so lonely in my life. Now it wasn't sharp, as a contrast; it was merely what it was, and what I was.

I remember lying with Kynnin sometimes, especially after sex, and looking down at our bodies, and not being sure which pieces were whose, not being able to physically sense a distinction between us. It was wonderful, at the time. Who am I now, to feel this with the entire world? My boy already loses his fingers when we fold our hands together. His soul treads close on mine, I swear to it.

Sometimes I can feel the echo of the end of the world on the skin across my shoulders. It comes closer, with a final ringing triumphant sense of completion.

I could never explain that to you, but here's a secret: almost always, I use words not because they make sense, but because they feel right and correct to use.

Good morning, guys. Have a good one.