Saturday Torch Light

I've carried a torch for someone for the past umpteen years and every Valentine's Day I spend the day pining after someone who's made another life for them self with someone else.  Every year I let go again. Intellectually, I know what the reality is and I have made peace with it in my own way. Sometimes it's a thin veneer.  The underlying beating heart of that truth delves far deeper.  It looks into the dark abyss.  It's been a slow methodical process to get to a different head space.  Some days are more successful than other days.  I am not writing this to be pitied. Trust me, I have enough self-pity to last me several lifetimes. I am writing this entry because I've been thinking a lot about the way I love. Why have I held onto someone for so long when we've had at best perhaps a handful of days together?  The fantasy far exceeds the reality.

Of course, when I am most desperately struggling with my creative writing, the obvious choice is to gravitate to the fantasy as a place to lose myself in for a couple of hours, days, weeks.

This morning, I did not want to rouse myself from sleep.  My head was pounding with a relentless migraine and all I could do was curl up and sleep half the day away. It is now late afternoon on a Saturday and I've managed to revise a 10-minute play and send it out to my writing group, get some laundry done, pick up Pandora's meds from the vet, buy a couple of steak tacos and now I'm writing this entry. I still have cleaning chores to take care of...I need to start with Pandora's litter box.  God! how I hate to clean it but it must be done.  Otherwise, I'll have a pile of poop waiting outside of the box as she protests using it even one day more unless I clean it. There is also a stack of papers, receipts and bills waiting to be sorted, paid and put away.  And a bottle of saki on my desk waiting to be opened. If I open that bottle now, nothing else will be done today.

I've been reading Karl Ove Knausgaard's, My Struggle, Book 1 and I am hooked on his writing. It's autobiographical but it's labelled as fiction. Autobiographical Fiction?  He makes the details of his life feel epic in nature.

Perhaps that's why I started this entry the way I did. Carrying a torch for someone for all those years has been a bit of a folly on my part.

I think it's time to find myself a new activity, preferably something physical to get this restless energy out of my system. Spring is right around the corner and I think I want to take up sailing.  I love being in the water and I could use something bright and beautiful to look forward to. I've gone on for way too long now. I still have not made up my mind on what to do next but... c'est la vie.

Peace,

L~

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