Okay so. Time for another book list, as I'm trying to get into the swing of reading a lot more than I do. . . at the moment. I want these books to be finished by the end of March.
• The Winter of Our Discontent
• As I Lay Dying
• Fahrenheit 451 (shut up I haven't read it)
Either. . .
• House of Leaves (if I can find it)
• A Natural History of the Senses
If I start House of Leaves I know chances are slim it's going to get finished by the end of March, but EH I can try. I'm almost done with Steinbeck and I started the Faulkner a while ago, so. I think this is reasonable.
Ooop! Gonna be late to fiction!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
On the topic of Severence and what it means.
It's odd how we let people into our lives; it's odd how we trust them and confide in them and varying points and degrees. It isn't something we particularly think about, but it's something we do. It's odd how at a certain point, they're carrying a part of you. Friends, family, significant others, the nice lady at the Target check out lane. They know little bits and pieces about who you are and what you do, and you're okay with this because you know little bits and pieces about them. Imagine a bag with a lot of different marbles in it; all of these represent different people and you're knowledge of them. They have some of your marbles and you, theirs.
We risk getting hurt emotionally and physically when we step out the door in the morning, when we get online or when we bother getting out of bed in the morning. We risk everything, every single day. I carry this single fact with me and it's a mantra in scripted on the inside of my skin. Any of you that know me know that I'm deeply afraid of. . . pretty much everything.
But it's odd, that of all the things I was afraid of, there could be something worse that could happen, and it did happen. To abuse the cliche, it feels as though my world is literally falling apart; my perspective on everything has shifted. I'm left considering my fears and what they mean while being held close to me. I feel like it comes down to one fact- to be afraid is to be aware. Fear is motivation and a feeling that keeps me safe. but it is also to be sheltered and carry a specific brand of longing for a world I'm too afraid to touch as a result of that fear.
What happens when you give someone a lot of your marbles? A lot more marbles than you've ever given anyone? As if there was a point I realized this-- I considered that I was giving away handful after handful of marbles, regardless of how many they were handing me. It scared me; it terrified me, but I still handed them over, because that singular knowledge that someone would be careful with those bits of me, comforted me.
I find it ironic that the fear that keeps me afloat was ignored in the one situation I probably should have acknowledged it.
So what do you do with the marbles now? Someone else has that many of yours, you realize you have a lot of theirs. What do you do when someone has seen you inside and out and then doesn't really want it anymore? I think the question I'm struggling with right now, is what do I do with the bag full of marbles almost exclusively belonging to the other person? Is it worth it to throw them away? They can't be given back.
Things that comfort me is all the other marbles I have from all the other people I know. Good people who think (for some god awful reason) that I'm a good person. They are few and far between but I'm thankful to carry bits of them with me, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. To love is to fear, but it is to accept. There isn't just one line that needs to be drawn in the subject, there are spools of thread where lots of lines need to be drawn, but thread is easily broken. I can't tell if this is a good thing or not yet.
So If I have some of your marbles, I thank you and I love you. I thank you for sitting with me while I try to figure out what to do with all these other ones I have left over from someone else, while I empty my bag and sort through them, trying to figure out what they mean to me.
I leave with a song because I'm not sure how else to end this, as it hasn't ended yet and it won't for a while. It makes me feel that even though it's a painful, awkward place, everything and everyone has a place to be in at whatever designated point in time. Even if it's waking up crying and whining endlessly on a blog, everything has a place.
We risk getting hurt emotionally and physically when we step out the door in the morning, when we get online or when we bother getting out of bed in the morning. We risk everything, every single day. I carry this single fact with me and it's a mantra in scripted on the inside of my skin. Any of you that know me know that I'm deeply afraid of. . . pretty much everything.
But it's odd, that of all the things I was afraid of, there could be something worse that could happen, and it did happen. To abuse the cliche, it feels as though my world is literally falling apart; my perspective on everything has shifted. I'm left considering my fears and what they mean while being held close to me. I feel like it comes down to one fact- to be afraid is to be aware. Fear is motivation and a feeling that keeps me safe. but it is also to be sheltered and carry a specific brand of longing for a world I'm too afraid to touch as a result of that fear.
What happens when you give someone a lot of your marbles? A lot more marbles than you've ever given anyone? As if there was a point I realized this-- I considered that I was giving away handful after handful of marbles, regardless of how many they were handing me. It scared me; it terrified me, but I still handed them over, because that singular knowledge that someone would be careful with those bits of me, comforted me.
I find it ironic that the fear that keeps me afloat was ignored in the one situation I probably should have acknowledged it.
So what do you do with the marbles now? Someone else has that many of yours, you realize you have a lot of theirs. What do you do when someone has seen you inside and out and then doesn't really want it anymore? I think the question I'm struggling with right now, is what do I do with the bag full of marbles almost exclusively belonging to the other person? Is it worth it to throw them away? They can't be given back.
Things that comfort me is all the other marbles I have from all the other people I know. Good people who think (for some god awful reason) that I'm a good person. They are few and far between but I'm thankful to carry bits of them with me, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. To love is to fear, but it is to accept. There isn't just one line that needs to be drawn in the subject, there are spools of thread where lots of lines need to be drawn, but thread is easily broken. I can't tell if this is a good thing or not yet.
So If I have some of your marbles, I thank you and I love you. I thank you for sitting with me while I try to figure out what to do with all these other ones I have left over from someone else, while I empty my bag and sort through them, trying to figure out what they mean to me.
I leave with a song because I'm not sure how else to end this, as it hasn't ended yet and it won't for a while. It makes me feel that even though it's a painful, awkward place, everything and everyone has a place to be in at whatever designated point in time. Even if it's waking up crying and whining endlessly on a blog, everything has a place.
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