Do you ever have those moments where you know you’re acting completely irrationally but you’re so deeply invested in what’s happening and you have so many feelings about it that you have no other option but to just follow your shitty behaviour through to its unpleasant conclusion?
I ask becauser currently, I find myself sitting in my bedroom – my adult woman bedroom – sulking, because I hate my Christmas tree.
I woke up in the soft grey of early morning and made waffles in our quiet kitchen, my feet cold against the stone tiles.
As I did, I thought about each of the past six years, right back to the beginning. Those months where I carried her inside of me; when I became so used to her tumbling, kicking, curious presence that my belly felt oddly still and empty after.
My little sister Hilary (now almost twenty-nine, so I suppose not so little anymore) has always been swimming in creativity. From how she dresses, to the direction she steers her life, Hilly exudes warmth and light and charisma in spades.
Within the past year, she’s channelled this energy into spoken word poetry. First independently, then joining the Victoria Slam Poets team, and THEN qualifying for a national slam-poetry competition, like she’s some badass, spoken-word version of Glee.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver Excerpted from her poem, The Summer Day
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to have a good life. This topic might seem calming and contemplative but it actually stems from a deep sense of grief over the fact that I’ve started to think that we are, collectively, doomed.
It’s cold here. The mornings are drenched in icy mist and the sky’s been constantly overcast. It’s all very cosy and thoughtful, perfect weather for soup, writing, and music.
This is what I’ve been playing lately, a combination of strange music and soft music and the lovely sort of music that helps me drift off into my own thoughts. It’s a fantastic soundtrack for moving into this new season.
If you have any songs to add, share them in the comments! I’d love to add to the playlist 🙂
I feel like this woman sings exactly like I do – slightly out of range, slightly off-kilter – but somehow she manages to make it sound fantastic, instead of like horrific caterwauling. I’m bewildered. And intrigued. And envious? Many feelings here, folks.