One day Iâ€™m only able to see the sun. Everything is bright: my future, the mangos split into perfect segments on the table, the way my son laughs, the way words fall readily into place. Other days my heart plays wild gypsy music. I howl at the moon, lust after long gone loves, linger in the blue light of my laptop screen parsing stilted fragments and run-ons into barely sentences.
In college I remember a boyfriend flipping through the pages of a journal that Iâ€™d left tucked into a bag in his room. His jealously about the way Iâ€™d described my ex was palpable, his eyes were sparks, he couldnâ€™t take the fact that I would write about anyone other than him with shards of longing, or affection, or anything other than contempt. He was actor. The kind of man who would turn anything into a passionate fight followed by passionate reconciliatory love making.
The fight about the journal was the most bitter. I wouldnâ€™t back down, or say it wasnâ€™t true, or do anything to soothe his wounded ego. And all I could say was, idiot. Whyâ€™d you read? My heart is ambiguous, turbulent, and true. Every day the world is a different hue.
This is the way I write here. Each post is a splattered blueprint of my everyday heart on the page, and youâ€™ll get a wildly irregular and possibly skewed perspective. I want to sink into the moment, thatâ€™s why I write. I want to remember the way today a warm wind woke us up in the morning, and how it rained all dayâ€”leaving the rivers choked with snowmelt, slipping over their banks into the brown meadows of trampled grass. I want to remember the way I feel when we fight, or when I am abundant with joy, or when I am occupying the fragile thin edge of loneliness and longing that circles my life, that makes me hungry.
Today I am trying to get myself motivated to go for a run. Exercise is one of the keys, often missing, that makes my life feel whole. Yesterday I lay in the sun outdoors for hours, under the trees on the newly drying grass, just inches away from melting snow. My skin was singing with sun. I felt a smile blooming somewhere deep inside my solar plexus. Everyday is different.