You wake up some days and try to figure out where you went, where you’ve been. Recently I’ve been walking on jettys, breathing beach water, and walking through state reservations. I’ve also been buried in obligations, navigating graduate school and fitting in spending time with a new boyfriend. I’ve been forgetting fiction. I’ve been ignoring words. I’ve been catching up on connections while on the run. I hurt my feet somehow between dancing in flip flops and trying to wear fake arches in my shoes. Then this weekend sore and tired I realized I keep in moving from one thing to the next, anxious to be there and see people or eat food or whatever. I need to slow down. I started to flip through a zine anthology I purchased and it all felt familiar.
I remember the days in North Adams when I would scroll through message boards about DIY projects, tshirt surgery and zine making. I remember the words and the music, the movement. I remember the connection and the belief. The passion and moments.
Sometimes life happens and you feel like you might be waking up. I’ve been doing a lot of worrying about my health, worried I’m not eating well and then consoling myself with pizza and brownies. I’ve been doing a lot of non productive lounging (resting can be productive. Resting while refreshing Facebook is not) and thinking about things I could do instead of doing them. I’ve been zoning out but not in a meditative state. I’ve been complaining instead of talking, sighing instead of breathing, and making excuses.
I’m ready to get back go me.
I want to start a zine and make connections, drink tea and read. I want to be part of something bigger than myself. I want to open my heart for bigger adventures, take even more pictures and listen to more music. I want to create mixes on 8tracks, seek out art and words that make me feel alive.
I am alive and I am living.
There’s no reason to allow the days to pass without remembering that.