Interlude

I don’t know if it’s the oppressive Texas heat, mid-career malaise, or simply waiting, inexplicably, for something really wonderful to happen, but I can scarcely think straight these days, let alone think deep. For the first time in a long time, my life is, well, boring.

I understand what the Chinese meant when they cursed each other with the words, “May you live in interesting times.” I enjoy change; I’m the sort of person who grows idle and listless should I stay in any one phase of my life too long. I usually keep things interesting, but interesting is tumultuous. Interesting is dangerous. Interesting means I don’t have time to enjoy the moments in between earthquakes.

There is stillness here in the deep. It is not interesting. But it is stable. And warm. And delicious.

I won’t lie, though: I find myself fidgeting all the time, my mind racing for things I should be doing, but everything around me is so still. All my writing projects are complete and the new ones are still gestating quietly, developing into something that can live on their own. My design projects, too, are for the moment paused, as the university limps its way out of summer and into the blusterous activity of the fall semester. Everything is dormant right now; there is no drama.

Yet, I long for a wild, blissful adventure to muss my hair and dirty my hands. I want to hope for something. I want to embark on a journey.

I’m trying not to think, and I’m succeeding. I’m trying merely to be, to reconsider my life as I enter my thirties, trying to figure out who I am, where I want to go, what sort of legacy I want to leave behind. I say all this to say that if this blog hasn’t anything relevant or deep or thoughtful to say for a while, I apologize. I’m mentally cleaning house.

I do intend to continue with the storytelling, however, if for no other reason than I feel the need to reminisce, to leave traces of my little girl self and her experiences of the world. Not for you, I’m afraid, who didn’t know me as a child or as a woman and probably don’t care except that perhaps the stories are amusing to you (I hope they are; they’re funny as Hell to me in retrospect) but for myself, so that I can look back and remind myself when I forget that I was a religious, strange, overly thoughtful and yet all the same, childish little girl back in the day. I hope I never lose that.

So I apologize for what may come in the next few weeks or months. But if you’ll allow me the indulgence, I hope you’ll enjoy the memories as I dust them off and display them on the shelf. They’re my war medals, and though sometimes they make me look like an arse, they’re mine; I earned them.

Very well then, on with the show!

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