i try to do everything. but i don’t always do it well or the most efficiently. i take the long way ’round by accident. i get lost in too many thoughts at once and forget what my hands are supposed to be doing or my eyes are supposed to be watching. i choose the obscure when conventionality is easy.
i conduct experiments when and where it would be more sane to follow tradition for once.
this seems to happen frequently when i make pie unsupervised.
in case you were wondering, pomegranate juice has a high sugar content and burns very well.
this is one of the more humorous ways God keeps me (somewhat) humble.
funny how nostalgia is such a happy-painful ache and how we never seem to remember the aches and pains we were muddling through in the time to which we wish to return. my spring fever seems to have started early and it’s now steeped in nostalgia. my little mind was saying to me while i peeled apples and tried not to cut my thumb off, “oh, how perfect that spring was! how vivid and alive and cold and clean and beautiful you and it and everything felt! how exquisite was your devotion!”
and then the present mind that was calmly helping me eat the shiny red apple peels said, “how deep were your panic attacks! how crippling was your doubt! how circumstantial was your sense of happiness! how ever-ready to be present was your sense of unease!”
which is all perfectly, logically true. i still remember the light and the colors and tastes of that spring as if we were intimate friends.
then i force myself to remember the whole picture, and i can almost feel the fear that would surge from my stomach and smother me. i force myself to remember forcing myself to breathe, in, out, in, out, slowly, steadily, calmly. i force myself to remember how my hands would shake as my heart raced along in a tizzy.
i’m grateful for the beauty of that spring, but without pain in the picture too it’s a washed-out watercolor, ephemeral and dreamlike.
pain has a peculiar beauty all its own.