weighted words.

I have a few things on my mind.



Mostly you could say they all come back to the general idea of first loves.

Which is unusual. Everybody knows how this works. Annie sits down to write with a hundred scattered-and-completely-unrelated ideas and considerations and somehow relays all-or-most of them within a 5-10 paragraph thoughtsplosion. Any method which could possibly be employed to line up aforementioned ideas in some kind of sensible outline (lists, bullets, numbering, etc.) is readily at hand. With reason in one hand and a fistful of tangled musings in the other, I usually just go at it.

And I guess you could pretty much expect the same this time around.

So, by "general idea" I think I really mean to say "I'm pretty much gonna still talk about whatever I want."

So. A list? Quite.


Thought 1: Cycles frustrate me. Actually, I am beginning to believe that cycles have frustrated everyone who has ever been caught in one. No one likes the "two steps forward, three steps back" feeling. If I ever found someone who did, he could have my share, and probably everyone else's, gratis. But the thing is, nobody wants that. Nobody wants to feel like they are caught by something from which they have no ability to free themselves. In particular, I am thinking of this as it pertains to me and music.

Always, it seems, someone is asking me, "Do you ever play (insert instrument name here) anymore?" To which I reply, "Not really, I just don't have any time."

Almost invariably, the reponse (uttered with either utmost fervency or relative passivity):

"Annie, you really shouldn't give that up."

Now, dear small audience, let me once and for all clarify the weight of the struggle which this interaction causes within me. Take my word, if anyone is aware of how much she "should" be playing her mandolin, violin, and piano, (preferably all at once and with great passion) it is I. However, I seem to be caught in a cycle which I have yet to conquer.

How do I push through the barriers and entrapments of my very busy life as a student, employee, daughter, friend, girlfriend, and God-chaser to find a releasing of my full musical abilities on the other side?

Or, perhaps the better question- would I even find such release if I tried with all my might?

Maybe.

Recently, I was told that there was still music inside me; an ability still lying partially dormant and unopened to the light of day. How do I respond to this?

I am thinking maybe the answer lies in first loves.

Did my heart first fall in love with the long, deep sounds of bow on string? Was I first captured by the weight of music beneath my fingertips?

Or did I tumble head over heels into a junkyard of sentences and pieces of my thoughts? Words, letters, punctuation- did they find me first?

Truthfully, I think yes. I played piano as a little girl and then stopped for several years, but I've been putting words together for what feels like my whole life. When I play piano, people smile and compliment me on the sounds of sixths and thirds laid out nicely beneath my fingers. But when I write...when I write, people can be filled with movement, laughter, hope, realization, understanding, peace- whatever. I know this is because the Spirit of God is my currency. His breath brings to life the jumbles of my heart that I put to page. Because of this, I don't want to ever stop writing. The presence of his words in mine is inspiring in and of itself.

But music. Music is...harder.


I am moved by music. I cry with it, dance with it, sometimes even laugh with it. But who in their right-brain hasn't done these things? The question is not "does music stir up passion in my heart?", the question is "is my heart made to make music?"

And honestly, I think yes.

I guess I am just wondering how to keep pushing. Perplexing, to say the least.


Anyway.

Thought 2: The ends of beginnings.

A melancholy thought, isn't it? You know what I'm talking about. It's that feeling you get after you paint the first few strokes onto the canvas. It's done; there's no going back. Cover it if you will, it will be there beneath the surface, still.

If I wasn't so abomidably sleepy, I would expound on this one. As it is, I can barely even spell expound.

Thought 3: Kings of Convenience = a first love. Perfect background music for any and all writing-type activities. Thoroughly recommended.


Now, despite the maelstrom of thoughts still leaping between the bunks in my heart's inner chambers, I've got to put myself to bed now.

Thank you for reading.
I know consistency is not my forte these days.

Nonetheless,
sleep sweet.

my soul alight.

Good morning.



If you know me, you know I am not one for addictions. Freedom and free-will appeal to me much more deeply than any compulsive habit I could form. Now, I am aware that anything can be an addiction, but I'm talking substance here. So, in light of this, I generally stand far enough away from stuff that's culturally labeled "addictive" to avoid getting consumed by what I consume. Sodas, cigarettes, whatever- I'm not a huge fan.

However.

This morning, as the crispness of fall comes in like a deep breath of change, a warm yellow mug of coffee and a long overdue slice of perspicacious are my companions of choice.

Today feels like what I've been waiting for since July. I think I am just not a summer-weather type person these days. My heart was almost pounding as I took those first few breaths of real autumn air and spoke aloud to the weather, "please stay as long as possible."

And then, remembering Georgia's propensity to forget the timeline of the seasons, added, "but I would like winter sometime in November."

Anyway. All of this to say that I am in love with today. I slept in and dreamt a fairytale dream full of the kind of feelings that persist even into the daytime. Good feelings. I ate lunch first, and then had coffee for breakfast and dessert. I'm wearing a jacket that smells like a boy I like, and pajama pants that feel like rest and home. Caramel coffee is warming me all the way up and down, while the sun hides behind the gray-blue autumn clouds. It is just a good day to unwind.

It's the kind of day that would unwind me if I didn't have time to let myself unwind, anyway. I have needed this change for so long. It feels like the weather finally caught up to transitional whirlwind my life has been lately, like we're finally on the same page.

Now, granted, it's Georgia, which, when it comes to weather, is the universe's center of false hope. Our blizzards are an inch deep and one subdivision losing power for half an hour is STORM WATCH 2007. So, it might be a couple of weeks before days like today take up permanent residence...but it will be worth the wait.

Anyway.

Thoughts.


1. The Dream. In my fairytale dream this morning, there was one scene in particular that I cannot seem to shake. I greeted mom this morning with something like a "Good morning, I'm making lunch, wanna hear about my dream?" It's just been stuck in my mind so unrelentingly. And I don't necessarily want to rid myself of it...I just keep turning it over in my mind. It's this scene of a girl weeping in the grief of her true love having left her. He loves her, but believes her to be in love with someone else, and leaves in the belief that he is doing what's best for them both. She is, of course, completely distraught.

What captured me most was the way I saw her sadness in my dream. She literally came apart with mourning. As I said, it was a fairytale dream and I think she was not actually a person like you or me. She was made up of these threads of braided silver, the way we are made up of atoms and molecules. So, when her love left her, there was a crowd walking by her wondering why she didn't appear to be mourning at all. Suddenly, though, I could see clearly the silver threads inside of her; they were trembling and shaking and coming undone with grief. As the threads trembled, they began to sweat tears, and I could see her skin shining and wet from it. From the inside out, she was weeping with every fiber of her being. She was falling apart. After all of this, streams of tears began to pour from her eyes, but the ache began on the inside. People wondered why she looked so composed, but she quaked on the inside and unraveled completely, all for the love of this boy that had gone away.

Needless to say, I have never before dreamed anything like this.

My heart wept with her. I was completely involved with her and her story; a very strange feeling.

Anyway. That's just a snapshot. The rest of the dream was similar, but very jumbled, and it would be bordering on fruitless to even try to make it turn into writing.

2. Rest. I am learning that rest and sleep are two very different things. I sleep often. Every night I collapse into bed and smile at the idea of taking refuge in my sheets, if only for a few hours. But bordering on both edges of this are demands from life and living, the kind that can neither be put off or avoided in good conscience. I have come to appreciate sleep more deeply as it has come to feel like a rarity in my life, but rest is a different kind of treasure altogether. I appreciate sleep the way a soldier would appreciate a well-hidden foxhole on the battlefied; I can be safe there for a little while, but it is neither permanent nor the end of my struggle. Rest is like coming home for Christmas, or the war ending altogether. I'll go back to the fighting eventually, but for now I can just love where I am, and breathe deeply without the smell of shots being fired.

Honestly, I really like the way things are in my life, even when I'm not resting. My job, my school, my endless driving up and down I-85...it is a good life. But it wears on you to be working twenty-something hours, schooling and home-working, trafficking and spending infinite amounts of dollars on fuel, and doing it all from dawn til way-past-dusk for at least five days a week.

So, today is much needed, and much appreciated.


3. The Roses. My wonderful boyfriend, upon the anniversary of our three months of dating, gave me a sweet little Parade Rose bush to keep in my room. It was so lovely, with its flourishing throng of golden yellow blooms. I adored the idea of keeping it alive in my room until it was too enormous to keep inside any longer, and I even did research to find out how to preserve such a thriving state of floral euphoria:

"The Miniature Rose also called Parade Rose among other names, is an extremely common and beautiful houseplant. To me Miniature Roses seem to add a bit of elegance to a home. These houseplants require more work than most houseplants." - some blog about houseplants


Okay so, I'm thinking, "Eh, I got this. A little pruning, a little watering, the right light...it'll be fine."

And yet somehow, here, a week later, what do I have?


A dagum rose GRAVEYARD.

I feel awful.

I still have hope though. I really want to save my little plant. It was so darling in the beginning. I believe we can persevere.


So.
If you have any suggestions for how to sustain my darling's life, please let me know.

Anyway, it is time to move forward in the day. A shower? A nap? A phonecall to a friend? Anything I like.

Resting days are wonderful in every way.