World Like A Snow Globe
Dec. 31st, 2008 02:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormEverything's swirling around me right now. Today was pretty intense, just on its own: woke up at Piotr's after his Christmas dinner; hung out with Christina, my high school friend who lives in Uzbekistan, and talked about marriage and relationships and life directions; and hugged Drew goodbye: he's off to New Zealand to study wine now, possibly not to come back for years.
Life is like feathers, or maybe bubbles: beautiful to watch it swirling, oh so hard to catch and hold pieces. I'm not working right now (I need work, and if the snow doesn't clear up real soon now I'll need to find something in the interim) and I'm not biking regularly (nor bussing, just not going anywhere other people aren't going too generally) and people and events just sort of float through.
I wasn't expecting to start crying when I said goodbye to Drew. He's happy now; he's met his girl, they're hooked into each other effortlessly; he's chasing something he'll love to do, something that involves working with the soil and growing things and making things. It's been a long time coming for him. I'm glad it happened. Am I a stopping point for broken people? Then they take their lives into their hands and go sailing off and I'm standing here in my own life watching them fade into the distance. I can never be terribly unhappy about it, or even too very sad, because here are people stepping into themselves and their lives, flexing fascinating people and enthusiasm and strength that has suddenly become their skin, that has become a part of themselves.
Maybe I only put effort into people I know will go.
I don't know what I'm talking about tonight. I'm ...sad? ...wistful? ...nostalgic? ...there are threads spinning out of somewhere in the centre of my chest that reach far off into the distance, and from that distance I can feel rustlings and faint tuggings and remembered snatches of life. My own life is in winter, it's in waiting, it's feeding a little life with dried tubers. This is less worrisome than it normally is, if it's normally worrisome: it'll go fast when it picks up, and I know where it will go for the next little while (barring sudden surprises, of course). Still, winter is the time to mourn our losses, and it's the time to retreat into ourselves.
I've lost more rats this season than I even owned for the first couple of years I kept rats. Winter is dying time.
On the other hand, there is a lot of richness coming in right now. I have family on all sides: Angus' family is melting into my life on one side, cousins from my father's side on another, and my own family is close to me right now. My brothers and I were sitting around after Christmas dinner, after everyone else including mom had gone home, and we talked about my step-dad (our dad). We talked about mom, and growing up, and about how we approach money and stuff ownership (none of us like the feeling of owning stuff). It's the first time that ever happened.
Swirling, swirling, swirling.
I'm still my own rock at the centre of the universe. Or maybe that's me, the little green figure at the centre of the globe, attached firmly to the weighted base, and everything is swirling around me.
Life is like feathers, or maybe bubbles: beautiful to watch it swirling, oh so hard to catch and hold pieces. I'm not working right now (I need work, and if the snow doesn't clear up real soon now I'll need to find something in the interim) and I'm not biking regularly (nor bussing, just not going anywhere other people aren't going too generally) and people and events just sort of float through.
I wasn't expecting to start crying when I said goodbye to Drew. He's happy now; he's met his girl, they're hooked into each other effortlessly; he's chasing something he'll love to do, something that involves working with the soil and growing things and making things. It's been a long time coming for him. I'm glad it happened. Am I a stopping point for broken people? Then they take their lives into their hands and go sailing off and I'm standing here in my own life watching them fade into the distance. I can never be terribly unhappy about it, or even too very sad, because here are people stepping into themselves and their lives, flexing fascinating people and enthusiasm and strength that has suddenly become their skin, that has become a part of themselves.
Maybe I only put effort into people I know will go.
I don't know what I'm talking about tonight. I'm ...sad? ...wistful? ...nostalgic? ...there are threads spinning out of somewhere in the centre of my chest that reach far off into the distance, and from that distance I can feel rustlings and faint tuggings and remembered snatches of life. My own life is in winter, it's in waiting, it's feeding a little life with dried tubers. This is less worrisome than it normally is, if it's normally worrisome: it'll go fast when it picks up, and I know where it will go for the next little while (barring sudden surprises, of course). Still, winter is the time to mourn our losses, and it's the time to retreat into ourselves.
I've lost more rats this season than I even owned for the first couple of years I kept rats. Winter is dying time.
On the other hand, there is a lot of richness coming in right now. I have family on all sides: Angus' family is melting into my life on one side, cousins from my father's side on another, and my own family is close to me right now. My brothers and I were sitting around after Christmas dinner, after everyone else including mom had gone home, and we talked about my step-dad (our dad). We talked about mom, and growing up, and about how we approach money and stuff ownership (none of us like the feeling of owning stuff). It's the first time that ever happened.
Swirling, swirling, swirling.
I'm still my own rock at the centre of the universe. Or maybe that's me, the little green figure at the centre of the globe, attached firmly to the weighted base, and everything is swirling around me.
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-02 05:57 pm (UTC)Look at you glass as being half full, instead of half empty - you have seen people blossom. We are all at fault sometimes for not keeping in touch.