More and more over the course of the last several weeks, I have found myself shying away from social media, Facebook especially. Any desire to scroll through the endless feed of information has finally burnt itself out, and to be quite honest, I'm grateful for it. To be more accurate, I think the anti-technological side of me had just had enough and finally felt the need at around 2 o'clock this morning, while the rest of me tried hard to fall asleep, to snuff my account out. I feel all the better for it, though.
So, what have I been doing to fill in the time? Reading. I've been finishing about a book a week. Here are the books that I have read, and finished, in the last three weeks:
- The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, by Rachel Joyce
- The Love Song of Queenie Hennessy, by Rachel Joyce
- About a Boy, by Nick Hornby
My current read is David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens. I have to say, shamefully having never read anything by Dickens before, I have already come to adore this gem of a story and I'm only seven chapters in! In addition to these novels, I have also been adding more poetry books to my reading list. Recently, I picked up a copy of R.H. Sin's book, Whiskey Words & a Shovel II, which I have really enjoyed. I was pleased to read poems he wrote about women that were not erotic. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude. However, as a female, at times I just get sick and tired of feeling that we can only be regarded as a sexual beings. Yes, that's great, but I'd like to think we can be recognized for being more than that. R.H. Sin's book touched on the beauty and strength he finds in women who have have, for lack of a better word, been broken. Maybe it's because of my own history of "brokenness" that his words resonate with me and I have found solace in them.
Here lately, I have been quite, how do you say . . . emotionally tender. Probably moreso than I have been in . . . ever. I want to blame my sex and hormones, but I'm not sure that that explains my recent state of melancholy. There is a lot going on in my head right now. A lot of anxiety and anticipation for events and changes that will be taking place in my life in the coming weeks and months. All of it pulling at my heartstrings from different directions and for different reason, none of which I want to get into at the moment. So we will leave it at that. Poetry. Writing. I want to read and write more poetry. With the emotions come also inspiration. I think it is a true statement to say that some of the best writing, art, and music have all been created during a time when its creator was in a state of raw emotion, not that I have created anything worthy of being called a masterpiece by any means. But the desire to is there and pretty intense. As much as I hate how easy it has been for my eyes to well up with tears (a simple recollection of a fond memory will quickly produce a lump in my throat and a sob to follow), I know that I must accept it, be mindful, and to use this time to nurture my inner child who is feeling SO MUCH at the moment.
So this is where I am at: unplugged (for the most part), voraciously reading, feeling all kinds of emotions, and trying to create something with all of it.
Until next time.
-k.
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