n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

last day in my twenties...

I've been sitting here wondering whether I'll miss it.

It's funny, I know it's only another day, but I tend to lapse into meditative musings when I get closer to my birthdays, thinking about what I've achieved and what the past year has meant; what I'm taking out with me and what I'm heading towards. It's a small idea, but maybe a second to pause and review, back up into the arena of a larger context than the emotions I run with from moment to moment. In this case, I've been perusing the last ten years of my life, an era minute in the story of the universe, but pretty packed nonetheless.

I'm not sure I'll miss it.

I feel like I'm taking with me what I've gained, so what is there to miss?

I have to admit, the past year has been an important one, a shifting back into life, and the first time I've consistently and head-on faced the fact of my depression, and consistently and head-on accepted it while turning, turning it always, moving in any way I can to knock its control out of my life. I may not control my emotions, but they will not control my life. Or at least the idea that this is something to be aware of.

And I've let go of so much this year, said goodbye, sometimes not very nicely, to those parts of me and my life that cause upset and don't add to the uplift I absolutely must make a priority, to keep me alive and moving. Not an easy thing; it's unavoidable to still love/miss people or places that make me feel, whether that feeling is more akin to hatred or happiness. I can't say my letting go is full or very satisfying, but I guess sometimes the things that are worth it, hurt. And sometimes they don't. No rules, just intuitions.

And I have to say, even if I'm a freaking-out twitchy paralyzed spaz right now, I wrote a bunch last year. Like, a lot. Not enough, but a start. Now I need to find a way to not only get back into that, but to channel it more clearly in a direction.

I think that's going to be the question of this year: What is the direction? or, what am I specifically living for?

And, of course, to whom am I writing?
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