Dragging out old writing.
On the fan forum where I am often disregarded as nasty or forgettable due to contrary opinions in the past, I was a largely contributing member of two heartfelt conversations. It was as though they veiled themselves for a day to my face, opened their arms to me and let me lunch with them in the sun for a while. I've gone home now and so have they, but the experience will be one that I keep in mind for warmth.
I fought healthily and spontaneously and productively with David in the living room, laughed with my sister over the phone, wept like a child with Cazzy from many countries apart. I've watched a friend step out of marriage, watched another plan her wedding, and indulged my most shameful hobbies; Top Chef, anyone? My father was arrested at the Canadian border and sent back to Cheyenne, and until we know whether or not he'll still have his job, I took it upon myself to be the town crier. I calmed my mother, who was laughing so much I detected a crack, and told her to save her phone's minutes, then called my brother and sister to inform them and feel like I'd done a part.
The most electric and addictive chunks of my spare time are spent exploring the fascinations of other people. Through one design blog I was turned on to twenty more, and through each of them another ten or fifteen. I assault my computer with a load en masse and wait for their updates to appear, then sift through them one by one. I have lamented loudly and often over having no one to share my love, my attraction and my passion for home design with, but that nobody comes with me on these journeys is part of their appeal. I can't explain it - even as a writer I don't have the power of expression I would need - the way I feel when inch after inch, second after second, image after image all I'm seeing is something I'm interested in. It's an explosive experience. I can feel that I'm learning, about notable designers of the past, about books I could explore, about my OWN style. It shifts little by little the more I'm exposed to, a puzzle working its way together that needs the fuel of these ideas to move itself. When I first unearthed this part of me three years ago, I was overwhelmed. Now, nearly every detail of the rooms in my home are available to me in my head, to be perfected and updated while I'm discovering.
I took a step backward today, back to the self-conscious girl I promised I wouldn't be anymore; I complained about a superficial and pathetic thing. I've erased the evidence and am using its space to give birth to something else.
Tonight, replacing the needless with the meaningful, I've got a lot to go over. My life is at once incredibly rich and dreadfully barren. My friends and family are scattered all across the country, some of them far beyond, my hometown is blossoming without me and the most influential people in my life exist in a world that feels separate from mine.
I don't have the privilege that some do; I can't call my best friend to see a movie with me, I can't horde everyone who makes me smile into my living room and cheer at a game on the tv, and I can't go to lunch with my mother and sister on Sundays while my husband raids the lairs of demons with the speakers blaring.
But none of it means that I am empty or alone. I am at a disadvantage, that's all. My life is rich because of its people, regardless of their distance, how they challenge and amuse and respect and enliven me. How so many of them are capable of making me feel connected to something even when I'm this far away.
David is working night shift for at least this week, and although there's hope he'll be coming home early tonight, I've stolen a packet of his spiced vanilla chai, easy milk, easy sugar, and am preparing a session of study with Home Buying for Dummies. My house is clean and quiet. I am clean and quiet.
I hope to stay clean and quiet.