no answers

January 25, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Counting Crows- Anna Begins

I do go through these phases. Sometimes I dread putting my thoughts into words. (Amber, you don’t think in words? You ask. Not always.) I don’t even want to make sense of it all sometimes. Other times I journal on my own. It’s this blue indie looking leather-bound thing. My handwriting is loopy and messy and indecipherable. If I ever misplaced it I’m sure I would experience side-effects much like that of a heart attack. My journal is so very often my sanity. I explained it to Chad once by saying that my thoughts look so much more manageable and concise if they are in black in white. No, it doesn’t always leave much room for an artistic visual beautiful thoughtlife. Sometimes beauty is overrated and sanity highly highly underrated–in my mind of course. And then come times like this. Phases like this when I want nothing more than to write. Write and be heard. Write and even if no one hears I will hear myself. Loudly. Write until it makes sense. Write until I see it all. Clearer. Write until I’m no longer recalling. Write, write until I am grounded and I feel Him under my feet. Right here and right now.

So I wonder in my head why I feel the need to sometimes write publicly. I don’t particularly love talking to people about what I write here. I do love to hear when people relate to my jumbledmessylife but I don’t often want to explain myself when other don’t see it as I do. My sister laughs at me and (I’m sure) shakes her head because now you are all picturing me in my underwear and tanktop and I have few inhibitions with publicity. I don’t know many of you. But do you know me? Do my scraped knees and confused emotions look familiar? Do you feel the same heartbreak and the same self-doubt? The need to laugh and laugh again because this is life? Do any of you feel the same need to know and be known by others? To write?

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