Possessive…

Pronouns.

Not what you thought eh?

The first time in history that tragedy was evident in statue, see real life...

Well I’ve been doing a bit of revisionist history and I see we far too often in these pages of my blog, this internet extension of my life, when I really meant I.

Things have changed and are changing at a phenomenal pace. I can’t myself keep track. I’m living out of a suitcase, sleeping on a lovely, loaned, and quite thin, hideaway bed. I’ve been here for weeks, almost months (thanks for friends).

I’m searching for a fuller life and making– oh god– so many mistakes that I hope to one day recover from.

It’s been dark, and very personal. I’ve questioned how much to share here but I’m getting beyond the breaking point of demure internet faux lives of happiness.  How many perfect pictures can you look at, how many staged interiors before real collapse?

Let’s get real friends.

Let’s get fucking real.

I am thirty years old, I am changing my life drastically. I am about to move time zones, climates, and everything in between. I am about to experience different planes of being.  I am alone for the first time in five years.

I am drinking life in gulps, swallows, and the sweetness dribbles down my chin, staining my favorite blouse, yet I can’t stop, because I am thirsty.

That’s the point of need I’m in. My muscles are weak, I’m losing weight. I’m trying to redefine myself as half the person I used to be, and I’m seeing the better sides of myself that were long kept hidden.

I’m in the agonizing process of traveling on. I’m headed to a place with hot summers, mild winters and thunderstorms that will question a belief in the almighty.   A place where Mexican food is more than Chipotle, where I can see my parents on a weekend trip, where my street ghetto Spanish will come in handy. A place where I have never lived, just visited once on an off-hand raucous jaunt.

I’m also breaking a life apart, into so many sharp shards that can never be recovered.

I’m so good at moving, I own my own tape-gun(!) but this breaking is the hardest part.

There is so much to do yet, so many questions I’m asking myself and also boxes to pack, things to sign, cats that need shots, CSAs to deal with, a house to be sold, and counters that still need cleaning, coffee to make and a hundred other details of a normal life that dove-tail into the chaos.

Glad to know you are here with me through the hard times.

xoxo

wilhemina.

 

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