the pink house, gisborne, august 2019. polaroid sx-70, expired impossible film.
i tread the line between wanting to express my thoughts and desperately wanting to remain silent – both in this virtual space and out in the world.
by the end of each day, i am easily aggravated and in need of disconnection; with netflix, with a small bowl of ice cream, with a soak in the spa (though i very often don’t have either of the last two things). i collapse into bed, fall asleep swiftly, but toss and turn as the night wears on. life is coming at me in new ways and, most days, i feel jarred and cracked open and angry with how my body feels. i swallow pills in the morning, then more at night, imagining my insides rattling from the sheer volume of them all – just to keep me on an even keel. everything is a rudder, steering me towards work, then home. it’s been so long since i have allowed myself some breathing space, some grace, some kindness. i have tried to make the monotonous days of my life seem interesting by posting about them here, but that was a short-lived exercise… i couldn’t even keep that up for long.
the things i’m worrying about seem absurd in the greater scheme of things, but i fixate on them nonetheless.
today i am lamenting the absence of blog rolls and interesting reads. i miss the comfort of a blog where people tell longer stories and where everyone’s sidebar was a treasure trove of windows into a wider world. i feel like a bit of an oddity now and my writing here is sporadic. i wonder if i have been clinging to this space for too long and it’s time to shut down this one tiny dust-mote floating in the vastness of an impersonal landscape.