5 September 2013
I’m done with my work for the week. Today I forced myself to just really sit and do what I have to do, block everything else that’s on my mind and just focus on that part where I only need to worry about colours and shapes and typefaces. It took a lot of effort and discipline, as am not particularly motivated to move and do things at the moment. I’m glad to say that I’ve emailed everything to my client awhile ago.
I wanted tomorrow off, I wanted Friday all to myself to think about what’s happened this week. And the weekend to catch on sleep, to recharge, to read letters, to write people back.
I love Sara Bareilles’s songs. I love her writing. It strikes me as very honest–her voice, not only when she sings, but when she writes. I may not always be taken with the melody right away, but once I hear the words I can’t help but listen. The video above is one of my favourites.
This one, too:
I find myself listening to this song a lot this year. It lifts me. It helps keep the heartache away on some days. For me it’s not just applicable to failed relationships, but to other problems in life, too.
Oh, M. The letters I’ve been getting since yesterday. They’re–
They’re magnificent. Exquisite.
You said, “I think I am more myself when writing letters and nothing else comes close to that.” And I agree with you completely. It’s the same for me.
Last night while waiting to fall asleep, I was thinking, Wow. These past few years. How did I get here? You know how it is when you look back sometimes and you have all these points of reference? Say, think of your life as one big map. All over it are markers, not necessarily important events but things that happened to you nonetheless. Think of them as instances in your life that act as landmarks, that say, “you’ve been here,”–how your memory is sometimes tied to that, as in, there is life before this happened, and life after this happened?
Well, I have a few of those, and last night I was thinking about the time I quit my first and last job ever. It’s such a clear divisive mark that makes me remember a Before and an After. I was thinking, if I didn’t leave that position, would I be here today? Would I have these kinds of problems? Would I have met you? Would I have been writing and receiving letters that are so wonderful, I need a lot of time to process all of my feelings?