I decided: write or perish -James Salter

I feel compelled to write again. I must in order to lose this heaviness I feel on my chest. When thoughts are trapped inside with nowhere to be expressed, things start to come out sideways. Looking back on my previous entrys I was a pretty good writer. Of course, I was trying to impress someone. That blew up in my face. I will need to exercise the muscle once again and work at it. I love reading what my 35 year old self was thinking, feeling. That was twenty years ago now. So much has changed, but there are a few things that remain: the unquenchable unforgettable indescribable indelible feeling of unrequited love. The soul crushing gut wrenching knawing feeling of being rejected. The happy-face on the outside carrying the heaviness of loneliness and lack of depth in daily transactions between people. The longing for a deep sould connection that does not exist in this lifetime. And while I toil away ripping the days from the calendar, I think, what the fuck am I doing here? And then they appear. But here we are, living our lives as planned. On cue. Divine timing does not seem to exist in my world. It's just complicated timing. Twin Flame timing. Sucks. Do you ever recommend things to people, like music, books, movies, podcasts and they say thank you for the recommendation, but don't check out anything you shared? Meanwhile, they do the same,and you take the time to listen, read, watch, play their recommendations in order to see what this person thinks is worth checking out...but they don't reciprocate? It is maddening. My gut is telling me to run. My heart is telling me to whisper. My mind is telling me I was foolish for letting them in to see the real me. I was scammed. And now I sit here with these feelings-- ghosted and sad -- knowing they will do this to someone else. Hoping I am wrong, but my gut never lies. Back to our old lives, I guess. I guess.

Reinvent and Reciprocate

We closed the pool today. And now that I have all the time in the world and nothing to do, I decided to put summer away. For good. While listening to Jeff Tweedy's new 3 cd release, Twilight Overdrive, I put it all away. Locked it up in the musty garage or the trashcan, whichever was more appropriate. I tore out the dried flowers and vines, the dead leaves that used to give way to lush green with delicate delicate peony petals. As Jeff sang to me, I heard every word, as if he was telling my story. "Scratching at the dead Golden lawn/A leaning doe and a shaking fawn/I called for you/Then they were gone/A planet without moons/A clock with no noons/Too late, too soon/Love is for love." I am silently mourning the loss of the summer, of a friend, of myself. While leaving my job was the healthiest thing for me, I feel a sense of betrayal and a void in what used to be purpose. I hope to find that purpose once again. But for now, the tires are spinning in the mud so deep I don't think I'll ever get out.