The last days here have done two very opposite things, simultaneously. It seems my life is moving at a pace too fast to catch and yet it is creeping by at snails pace. It either means, that I am ill equipt to function in my life and therefore should be hospitalized and only alotted crayons under supervision. Or that at this time in my life I am doing something, perhaps for the first time, dare I say it: serious.
There are many fears and many exitements but most of all there are many questions. Questions too daunting to answer. Answers to bleak to say out loud and my own vain hope stringing along my imagination to think that if I put all of my might into something, that the outcome will match the effort. That if I dream sensibly and work hard, my life will amount to my hopes. And, truthfully, I don't know that that is true.
I want to say that everything will be just fine, because I said so and because I want it to. It only seems fair.
I think that the struggle is life. The hard days, and the long nights, and waiting. Those are the moments that make up our lives, everything else is the frosting designed to keep us eating the cake of life. We have joy and sadness, but we are not emotional rollercoasters. Most of our time is spent in getting dressed and sitting in our cars. That is life, real live, honest to god, serious, life.
So while I sit here, contemplating my last days, realizing I'm coming up on one of those rare climatic moments in life. I can only think that I'd rather be going into the nuthouse, and puting these efforts into earning the trust needed to have unsupervised crayons.
Til then,
Zaira
