I made a pact last night with someone more perspicacious than myself.  I promised I would write here and in return, she would routinely pen her thoughts about the world.   I’m finding this task more arduous than I anticipated, but I don’t believe in empty promises.  As of recent, my thoughts have been scattered, kinda like Too Much Light.  An ever changing, honest, silly, disconnected, meaningful, incoherent, underdeveloped, too long, too short, abruptly ending set of notions.  Don’t expect much from the words that follow.  You might not understand it, but that just means I don’t yet either.  I’m okay though, lets press on.

This will be two in one.  Partially because I’ve got thoughts that flirt and court, but never quite make it to the point where they fuse together.  And partially because I’m too lazy to come up with another post title.

So, this will be two or maybe even three in one.

Guilt Complex

“You’ve got a guilt complex,” she commented after a pause.  I added another jingle bell so that I had an excuse to not answer right away.  There’s no denying it, she’s right, guilt.  But why?  Possible reason #1:  overcompensation.  I involuntarily and unknowingly left part of myself in 501 and on the 3rd floor.  Not just any part, but the defining bit.  As Bertha moved west on 94, the wind stripped away small wedges of my spirit and carried it back to where I belong.  It didn’t even hurt, at least right away.  Just like 20 times before, my little blue car effortlessly advanced into the parking lot.  I unloaded only the essentials, everything else would come in time. The elevator stopped at 2 and I followed the cinnamon scented trail to unit 209.  I matched the island key to the proper lock and greeted the quiet emptiness.  On the first night you only have to unpack the necessities…and I knew it was missing then.  I felt strange and uncomfortable, even awkward standing in the sage hallway.  The silver, oversized mirror taunted me.  Somehow, I had managed to elude myself.  Way to go.  Not long after, a phone tree went out.  “This may sound strange, but do you feel odd?  Like you don’t know who you are or fit in any way?  It’s okay if you don’t.”  Why yes, yes I do.  It’s nice to know that me, where ever (whoever) that might be is in the great company of at least 3 others.  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole of 501 was there.  

There’s always something distracting during these 5 weeks:  a job, a charity, a man.  But not this time.  I feel guilty for not having appointments to keep, commitments to fulfill.  And that guilt is manifesting itself in odd ways.  This year, I sent more Christmas cards than I have friends.  I cook every evening.  I shop online.  In the mean time it feels better to send Christmas cards and pack lunches than it does to figure out who I am and who I need to be.  Guilt.  Other possible reasons for it?  I don’t know yet.  And as long as there’s a gift in sight with no mistletoe, I don’t have to figure it out.

 

I love you… it’s just a reflex

You call every night… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  ‘Cept last night.  I lay beneath the cream and chocolate cloud and thought about you, imagined you.  I heard the rhythmic rise and fall of your voice.  I saw your lips form pledges of security and commitment.  I felt your heart keeping the pace of your thoughts, slow and methodical. Connected we were and you swayed me to my place of peace, of red suede couches, of peppermint mocha twists, of pepto bismol-themed rooms.  There I floated, calm, void of obligation, and above guilt.  I found my phone and reread your words.  That’s why I love you.  Just a reflex right?  2 times…3….4…no, still a reflex.

 

Okay.  That’s enough I think.  I considered writing about intentions, but I have a greater desire to eat chocolate cake.  I’m sure you understand.

 

Always and forever—Keshia