You dear loving warm and friendly gentle reader:
I am unequivocally happy. Everyday's randomness of mundanity fills me with mirth and laughter. I no longer wander in hurt, or confusion, I no longer sit down on benches to quell panic attacks while urging myself that there is a ground below, that one day I will be safe and stable - as stable as can be underneath a molten core that spins around a giant gas ball that is held in place just so.
Instead I sit on sofas or plump floor cushions, and whisk cake batter. I've baked three cakes in the last week and every time I needed to amp up my whisking, I don't turn to cancer, or chemo memories, or grunts from a body that I no longer recognise, and is only a shell shaped like my gentle mother. Instead I tell myself, whisk it till the ad-break, whisk it so the crumb will be firm, or more often than not, whisk it - it can be cardio for the day.
My mother was gentle, reader. You should be so pleased. And maybe now you understand why I seek gentleness in those whom I meet. Why gentleness makes me smile. The frown line that grazed the equidistant point between my half-shapely eyebrows is slowly fading. I wake up from afternoon naps, and the house seems covered with presence and silence. My father is visiting me; the boyfriend who I surreptitiously live with, is away on holiday, and the tv hums and the fan hums and the sunlight is dappled and I am drowsy and ready,again, to sleep.
What I used to call curious lethargy is now just a golden sleepy silence. Is this how people feel all the time? Are your lives such mellow afternoons? Gosh - how do you get any work done?
Is this what they mean when internet-folk say, that one day, you will be fine. One day it will seem like there is so much love in your life, so much of you is back, so much of everything you pushed away is somehow suddenly all around you and you will take it in and whoosh - something will click into place?
I dont know when it clicked. Its not chronicled anywhere but I am ridiculously pleased. Pain and sorrow make me bitter and angry, but also a writer. Happiness lets me float, ignore my blog, ignore my phone and just eat cake. I'm going to go float for a while now - three cakes and a box of jalebis can do that to you. Someday I will be that girl below.
Look me up, vote Dems, and eat cake. Or icecream. You know, eat sweets. Do cardio. Guard your uterus-related rights. BE proudly feminist. Defend libertarianism to the extent it doesnt make you a free-market jerk. Be angry at the world's injustices. Eat more cake. Look for inner peace. Have shiny baubles and cow pajamas. Do the crossword. Read sci-fi. Engage.
I am unequivocally happy. Everyday's randomness of mundanity fills me with mirth and laughter. I no longer wander in hurt, or confusion, I no longer sit down on benches to quell panic attacks while urging myself that there is a ground below, that one day I will be safe and stable - as stable as can be underneath a molten core that spins around a giant gas ball that is held in place just so.
Instead I sit on sofas or plump floor cushions, and whisk cake batter. I've baked three cakes in the last week and every time I needed to amp up my whisking, I don't turn to cancer, or chemo memories, or grunts from a body that I no longer recognise, and is only a shell shaped like my gentle mother. Instead I tell myself, whisk it till the ad-break, whisk it so the crumb will be firm, or more often than not, whisk it - it can be cardio for the day.
My mother was gentle, reader. You should be so pleased. And maybe now you understand why I seek gentleness in those whom I meet. Why gentleness makes me smile. The frown line that grazed the equidistant point between my half-shapely eyebrows is slowly fading. I wake up from afternoon naps, and the house seems covered with presence and silence. My father is visiting me; the boyfriend who I surreptitiously live with, is away on holiday, and the tv hums and the fan hums and the sunlight is dappled and I am drowsy and ready,again, to sleep.
What I used to call curious lethargy is now just a golden sleepy silence. Is this how people feel all the time? Are your lives such mellow afternoons? Gosh - how do you get any work done?
Is this what they mean when internet-folk say, that one day, you will be fine. One day it will seem like there is so much love in your life, so much of you is back, so much of everything you pushed away is somehow suddenly all around you and you will take it in and whoosh - something will click into place?
I dont know when it clicked. Its not chronicled anywhere but I am ridiculously pleased. Pain and sorrow make me bitter and angry, but also a writer. Happiness lets me float, ignore my blog, ignore my phone and just eat cake. I'm going to go float for a while now - three cakes and a box of jalebis can do that to you. Someday I will be that girl below.
Look me up, vote Dems, and eat cake. Or icecream. You know, eat sweets. Do cardio. Guard your uterus-related rights. BE proudly feminist. Defend libertarianism to the extent it doesnt make you a free-market jerk. Be angry at the world's injustices. Eat more cake. Look for inner peace. Have shiny baubles and cow pajamas. Do the crossword. Read sci-fi. Engage.
