Time is a cruel and whimsical creature. This week I’ve been barely sleeping, too busy with other things, kissing thin shadows and wrenching my system into sudden early mornings so hard I can feel my body protesting when I move, as if even walking is a strained effort for my tired muscles. Yet, oddly, I’m feeling rested for the first time in years. It’s like I’m finally feeding a deficiency I never knew was plaguing me until now.
Stephanie was writing today about how human memory works, how all positive memories are linked together, so when one is activated, they all light up. I’ve been trapped for a long time on the other side of that. After my Year Of Disaster, my positive experiences had little to link to, they felt constantly isolated. “Fleeting” was the word Steph used, and it fits, but now everything’s falling into place. My theatre project is ticking along quietly, just as it should, (though I sincerely need to take some time away from job-hunting to write some copy), my personal life is new, easy and only complicated in highly amusing ways, and rather than be simply ignored by magazines, I’m beginning to get rejection letters.
I think I’ve reached an ideal, the stable place I’ve been wanting from which to shake my life into some semblance of what I’d prefer it to be.