The power is out all along 100th. It’s been like this for about an hour now. I know it’s inconvenient and all, but I still get excited about disasters and severe weather warning situations.
Drama. Bravery. Lots of candles spread out in the living room with a potential group camp out on the rise. Yes, I’m still the same child hiding under my elementary school desk, beaming at my terrified classmates while we wait for a tornado to pass over our school.
We are so lucky. It’s really happening!
I think to myself, like the whole thing was a gift from God just for Houston, TX.
Disasters always came with an understood layout for the evening. This meant going home early on the school bus to a banana bread party with my siblings in the closet under our stairs. All of us tucked away, in the smallest safest place with banana bread that my Mom only baked during tornado weather.
I think baking helped her control her fear of Texas twisters, but it just made us fall in love with them.
I shall write on this laptop until it dies. That’s the best ending I’ve heard of, I think. Still no power, but I’m writing.
I’m moving enough to finally break up this fog just beneath my ribs. It aches just enough to remind me of how uninspired and wasteful I get, sometimes.
Lifting my arms feels impossible for some reason, but I’m writing. Sitting here reading sassy memes like; “try letting it go”, or “just sit with the pain, don’t escape it”, and “real women tell the truth, so sit in your truth!” are all pissing me off right now, so I’m writing.
I don’t even know if I’d call them sassy: maybe unnecessary is more appropriate. Yelling. Whatever, I don’t like the tone, even if I’m the one who colors them in that way. Unhelpful: even though there is probably another sassy meme that explains perfectly well why I’m probably not helpful either: my point is that they are startling and off-putting to me today, so I’m writing.
I don’t know if I’ve surrendered in this race, or if I just got slower as it chased me down, finally catching my heels and sitting on top of me. Eventually, you are brave enough to notice how imaginary your things are, and you walk away. Sometimes, it takes longer for that to happen. Right now, all I can do is sit.
It’s okay to feel the way you’ve felt before even if it seems like you’re destroying the progress you’ve made.
I’m sick of the “Healed people, heal people. Hurt people, hurt people”, nonsense.
Quit talking about who knows and who doesn’t so much! I see plenty of broken-winged folks around here. I talk about all of it while it happens so I can stay working, okay? That’s what I’ve always done.
The people that are meant for you will find you when you’re open and honest about who you are. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with me. I’ve been trying to recover the “correct way” or “the best way” (whatever that means).
The way that will resonate the most with all of the people that have resonated with me so much, but it’s hard looking back all the time wondering if it is correct. Maybe that means you avoid me and stop reading this blog.
I’m writing this for me because I can’t imagine not doing it at all. It’s a weird relationship with writing and choreography: it’s flying the strange way that I do where not everyone recognizes it as flying. Un-flying.
It looks almost exactly like falling from some angles. The people who know my process will know that I’m flying. That’s what matters. I’ve listened to the ones who don’t know me: they don’t understand what living with the leaking faucet, the under pressure and constant questioning of yourself really means. Always looking back to check if you’re still there.
Poor Orpheus and Eurydice: I know, I know, and I know now why they’ve always been my favorite couple in Greek mythology.
The most relatable to me, I guess. The most unfair situation belongs to them because they got so far.
I’ve read 2 versions of it about 12 times this week. He was just so close to escaping the underworld with her until he turns around to see her.
This breaking his deal with Hades. She is ripped from him, gone forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, loving it deeply and almost unwillingly at times.
I love so hard. The thing about having an imagination like mine is that reality sways if I don’t keep things sorted out. I love stories and characters so intensely sometimes that I never really feel satisfied. Take me with you always, I think to myself.
I am fascinated by all the things—dark and light.
The whole spectrum deserves my heart. I’ve been Martha Grahaming it since I was 8 years old. Once I’ve binged on enough Netflix, or I’ve finished an entire series box set, I will explore all the details that all the world has there for me. Then I live it out to the fullest because that’s how I do everything.
All the way until It’s completely spent. Un-flying myself to serenity.