Why do I so often choose my words more carefully now? Recently I've noticed a growing lack of courage in the confessions I write.
For some reason, my mind and heart refuse to allow me to delve too deeply, too intimately into what makes me tick.
I want to say that there must be some deep, dark secret I haven't yet shared that's eating me alive. That would make for a much better story, anyway.
But the truth is, I have hit a wall. No, not even that. Not a wall. THE wall. The one runners recognize when they hit that invisible mile where muscles refuse to go one more step. The wall that halts any progress. That missing clue that keeps a detective from solving the case.
The wall that must be circumvented, or walked away from.
Something needs to change, again. Something dramatic, drastic, dire, dangerous, a new action, a new course must be embarked upon. Soon.
The soul is a restless thing. It cries out for new experiences, new challenges, new choices. If I don't do something different, I will never get past this point in my life.
This journal has served its purpose, admirably. I had no idea when I began a year and a half ago that it would actually work. Never imagined that I would ever be able to say that the pain was gone. And while I don't think I will ever truly be able to say that completely, the pain I felt for so long, that I was certain would haunt me to my grave, is a pale, pale reflection of what it was. Even a short month or so ago.
But now that I've made it to this glorious plateau, I need to see if the climb continues up into the mountains, or down to the sea. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
I will continue to write here, because now I count on it. I need it. I just need to add something new to my daily repertoire of activities.
My main problem has always been deciding, and then acting on, what I want to do with my life. I'm highly effective when given a task. I fucking love to be useful, needed. But I have never been good at giving myself real goals. Even here, I never set a date for when I wanted to be "healed." I just mosy along at whatever pace is most comfortable, instead of pushing the envelope too fast. I get rebellious and stubborn when pushed too fast.
And then there is the money problem. Anything I might choose to do that is daring and exciting and different promises to have a fairly high price tag attached. I have finally reached a delicate equilibrium where my finances are concerned, and it won't take much to upset the balance. Unfortunately, unless that balance is tipped by a sizable Lottery win, there's only one way that fulcrum will tip.
On the other hand, can I afford to let my money woes stop me from doing what I know is best for me? And what should that best thing be?
I know, it doesn't have to be just one thing. A smart woman would just go ahead and do all the best things for her, and be proud of herself for it. But if you think I'm that type of woman, you haven't been paying attention. Hello, definition of lazy procrastinator, here, remember?
Side note: My neighbor across the hall, Dan, got himself a new video game last week, and he's been playing it almost nonstop when he's home ever since. How do I know? My normally quiet negihbor has the volume cranked, and I can hear the digitized gun shots rat-tat-tatting from hear. I cannot tell you how annoying that is... Almost worse than the damn bells. And in a couple days, it will probably surpass them and I'll be forced to tell him to shut the fuck up. Which will suck, because I hate being a bother.
Back to the discussion.
Best things.
Join a gym or take Community Ed classes. With my health insurance, I get a discount for attending at least 12 times a month, which equals 3 times a week. This would definitely qualify as a dramatic change.
Get a second job, to help pay the bills a little faster and easier. Doing what, I ask myself? Barrista? Stock clerk? Hooker?
Eat more fruits and veggies. Already doing this. With the discovery of smoothies, which I can make myself, I have one with lots of fruit, plus a handful of spinach and broccoli almost every day. And sometimes a dollop of yogurt or cottage cheese to balance it out.
Volunteer for something I care about. I strongly believe in volunteerism, and giving back to the community. I just can't decide what it should be, anymore. All I know is, I feel better when I'm doing something useful. (Is there an echo in here?)
Go dancing more often. I love the 90s. I love to dance. But I don't like going by myself, and none of my friends are into club hopping. Still, I might run in to people I know. The last time I was there, a random gay guy called me a goddess. (A girl gets that vibe when she's with someone she loves, I guess.) I did look pretty fabulous.
See? All good things. Signs of a life well-lived.
I know which one I should do. A basis to leap off for all the others.
But I am not good at leaping. I need a good, strong, yet subtle push off that cliff. Or at the very least, someone to catch me at the bottom.
Jinx
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