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Composition

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"Everything counts a little more than we think..."

31 March 2008 Monday

Castles in the sand, nightingales in the floor

Toward higher, dryer, solid ground.

slated in mused at 10:42 pm

I used to be able to drink a lot more in my younger days. I never did it often.. but even sparsely with friends, I don’t seem to be so keen on downing a glass of anything anymore.
*edit: I’m told I should mention that my reason for ever doing so was usually to show off my Irish blood/tolerance. Yeah.. I liked to say so. But really I think it’s always been much more my mother’s blood/stubbornness. Anyway,
I don’t think any of my friends would have ever described me as even remotely a party girl, but it was fun being a bit zany and bold every once in a while.

I guess one does sort of grow out of those things… or maybe I just haven’t been in the mood. I miss the basic things I’ve always missed and enjoyed.. spending time with a good person, sharing a scene or experience, sharing and building memories, building projects and knowing you are completely safe with them, and that you can hold their hand because they are safe with you too. It never had to be elaborate or complete.. just worthwhile.
I made my choices. I have the memories I have and I took the steps that brought me where I am, for better or for worse, whether some of those steps had company or not.
I think age and time, for the most part, makes us temperate. Maybe that’s partly because our hormones or other chemical cartwheels will have settled over time.. But I think it’s mostly because of what we collect as we go. You don’t get perspective by standing still and letting time pass. You get it by moving and changing, taking new actions, reflecting on old, having the scenes and your view change, and new events and feelings and responsibilities all change the landscape and the material you stand on. (You get greyer too, physically, metaphysically, metaphorically.)
I think I’m still standing in more sand than I’d like to be in.. and the waves seem far sometimes but they’re sneaky, sudden,..and consistent.

Heh. Journal entries without final assertion or conclusion. What a terrible habit to glean.

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