It's been a long time since I've blogged decently; and while sitting here, listening to Electric Nostril Love and feeling a teensy bit sleepy and a lot bit homesick, I thought I would end this hiatus. So, friends, the following is (hopefully) going to be The End of the Crappy Blogging in California blog. Or something more catchy that I'll think of later.
Sure, there is doubt. Of course there is doubt. I am me, after all. But beyond this doubt, beyond this apprehension, beyond this small part of me that wants to run, there is a large, more mature, more understanding part of me that is telling me to stay. To sit. To have a cup of tea and a few (quite a few) pastries. They are apple, after all. And we all know how I feel about apple pastries. Or any pastries, really. Even cookies. I'd stay for cookies. Heck, give me a half empty glass of lukewarm Kool-aid and I'll take a seat and stay for a little bit. It's the four year-old in me. It's not my fault. Really.
Speaking of lukewarm Kool-aid, I'm thirsty. And as I watch these circles dancing the dance that they were programmed to dance, I think of the world. We're all dancing, in our own little ways. The sleeping girl in here bed, her eyelids fluttering with the rapid dance of deep sleep. ... I'm sure there are tons more examples of how everyone dances all the time; but I don't feel like coming up with them.
--
As Rumi once said, "I don't like it here, I want to go back." But I am not on the edge of the roof. I am at the edge of the world. I think I'll sit anyway. (It all comes back to the pastries.)
--
I mean, I do wish you had put yourself in my suitcase. But that would have been terribly uncomfortable. For you more than me. And then where would I have hidden you? I suppose there is that one closet downstairs. But it's dark in there. I'm glad I wasn't selfish enough to shove you in my suitcase and lock the zipper. I considered it. For a long, long time.
--
Shhh.
Sure, there is doubt. Of course there is doubt. I am me, after all. But beyond this doubt, beyond this apprehension, beyond this small part of me that wants to run, there is a large, more mature, more understanding part of me that is telling me to stay. To sit. To have a cup of tea and a few (quite a few) pastries. They are apple, after all. And we all know how I feel about apple pastries. Or any pastries, really. Even cookies. I'd stay for cookies. Heck, give me a half empty glass of lukewarm Kool-aid and I'll take a seat and stay for a little bit. It's the four year-old in me. It's not my fault. Really.
Speaking of lukewarm Kool-aid, I'm thirsty. And as I watch these circles dancing the dance that they were programmed to dance, I think of the world. We're all dancing, in our own little ways. The sleeping girl in here bed, her eyelids fluttering with the rapid dance of deep sleep. ... I'm sure there are tons more examples of how everyone dances all the time; but I don't feel like coming up with them.
--
As Rumi once said, "I don't like it here, I want to go back." But I am not on the edge of the roof. I am at the edge of the world. I think I'll sit anyway. (It all comes back to the pastries.)
--
I mean, I do wish you had put yourself in my suitcase. But that would have been terribly uncomfortable. For you more than me. And then where would I have hidden you? I suppose there is that one closet downstairs. But it's dark in there. I'm glad I wasn't selfish enough to shove you in my suitcase and lock the zipper. I considered it. For a long, long time.
--
Shhh.
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