no country for old memories

Oy…You know, I have two articles due this week, fresh off the press for two different websites and the two friends who run them. Although I’m almost finished with one of them, about to start another, and I’m excited, it’s hard tonight. My brain is clogged, heavy with thoughts that feel like they’re twirling aimlessly but constantly inside my head. It hurts a bit but what can you do, eh?

I’m giving my best stuff for the moment over to someone else, so here, sitting up in bed and surrounded a mess of freshly washed clothes on my unmade bed after what was an action packed weekend, forgive me – I’m being a little selfish and posting something here, something little here on my own patch of blogging ground. Nothing peculiar, nothing amazing. Just little me and my, well…somethings. Random things.

Something inside me hurts tonight. I’m not quite sure what it is, just that somehow there’s this…I don’t know…fissure, where forgotten but still oddly painful feelings and memories are seeping into my system again. Stuff I’d forgotten, little things from when I was kid or a random offhand comment from people years ago whose names I can’t even remember; I don’t know why it’s happening, just that it’s only now I remember it I remember why I wanted to stow it away all those years ago. No, not always years. Sometimes months. Weeks, days, hours…they all seem to blend for me these days in one way or another.

I spent the weekend at a conference, presented with four of the most beautiful, intelligent, funny and talented people I’ve ever seen, or met. And they were amazing, but here in the day after the day and it’s hazy afterglow, reality has returned. As have I. Me, the Erin of the working weekday and hours behind a desk while a million different thoughts waft around in my head like some lost cloud that doesn’t know where it’s floating to. The Erin who can’t stop thinking or wondering about the grown up problems and challenges she has as she tries to sleep, all the while wondering where her lazy days in the afternoon sun, under the big gum trees on her farm away from the rest of the universe have gone. I miss the little girl I used to be in that place, tonight. I miss how fearless she was, and her take me as I am attitude issued to everyone without the fear of rejection that seems to go hand in hand with being a grown up these days. I miss my room and the feeling of familiar paint under my fingertips. Creaks in the hall known by heart and our little family of dogs asleep amidst the boots and tools near the back door. A place where my world was my universe, one I ventured out of only if I had to, but in any case, never wanted too. A world that’s nothing like this place.

And this Erin? Well, I’m sitting here, edging towards sleep and feeling the unkind pull of things I wish didn’t concern me again, wondering what the beautiful people have taken back with them to their world one a long way from here in so many more ways than one.

It’s strange. I’ve felt so strong these past few months…doing and being things with a strength I’d never really tested before. I still feel that, but I’d forgotten the power of the brokeness inside myself that I came from. Worse, I’d forgotten how little the glue has dried on the pieces I’ve managed to put together out of that mess. I don’t want to think tonight but I can’t help it. There’s no off switch I can push, no door I can close on it.

Man my eyes hurt. All I’m hoping, although why I’m not sure, is that I don’t dream tonight. There’s something so unkind about a brain that strings bad combinations together – grey, buried memories that make your insides feel cold and bruised when you remember them, and feelings of…inadequacy that feel so at home under this skin of mine that sometimes I think no matter what I become they will never leave.

Why am I pouring my heart out here. In all honesty I don’t know. All I know is the tiredness in my bones that comes with this heart and these bones. It feels more at home in them than I do.

Somewhere in the world tonight it’s raining. It’s dark and cold outside and someone is wrapped up in warmth listening to it all unfold like a symphony of music only God could compose.

They are happy, content, and life is all they ever wanted it to be; they’ll wake up to find it’ll be the same all over again.

They are somewhere in the world, but they are not sitting here writing this entry.

I’m tired; not one bone has escaped these blasted past and useless things, flotsam of an old life and a little girl that doesn’t exist anymore, and this heart is no country for a weak spirit tonight.

Sleep calls and I have to answer it now.

Wherever you are in the world, I hope you are somewhere, safe warm, dry, content and loved. Somewhere I hope you’re…maybe not perfectly content, but you are happy.

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