Skip to main content

Stranger

(Written last Wednesday.)

Antique_hand

I keep trying to express my feelings, but they only grow stranger. A tangled web of longing and horror, a three-fold reaction to my surroundings, my life and all that I am. It is such an intense thing I am feeling, oh, I wish I could get it out. I am stifled and too free at the same time. I am longing for the past, for darling dolls and being free and creative and to have life be so effortless. I long for that. I long for what wasn't real!

A new chapter in my life. I am at the very threshold. I am being driven to insanity by this long blank in which I can do nothing. I am not putting much more into our present home, because pretty soon we will do a thorough cleaning and be done with it, and I can't do anything for our future home except make curtains and placemats, but even as I do I am cautioned by experience that it is not our home yet, the place for which I am sewing, and something could happen.

In addition to impatience I have a real fear. I grew into apartment life out of dorm life, in which 80-90% of life is spent outside of the residence. I go to coffee shops to write or read. It's difficult to think of any other way, and yet soon, there will be no coffee shops, no bookstores close by. Once I would have scoffed at the minor detail, but now I feel afraid of how I will settle into country life.

I want to make a success of it. I want to make a journal for the home. I was thinking of it this afternoon. It will have to be a binder in which I can insert digital notes, because I take so many of those. I want to be a good homemaker, put some time aside every day to cook, clean or improve. I am afraid I can't live up to that.

I am afraid to let go of old things and old ways. There are things to which I cling that have no place in my life. Remnants of the past I should do without. Some of the things fade away on their own. Some of them resonate with me at odd times. A way I deal with it is to listen to Gackt, which is something special to me in its own right and reminds me of the beauty I once loved that will have no place in my future. I am going to a place that will not know of these things.

The hardest thing for me to release right now is beautiful Korean manhwa. I love the tall, haughty figures with long, long hair, which Josette embodied so completely. I tell myself that when I want to, I can look at Model in the bookstore, if I miss it so much, but I never do. I know the whole story after all. I can remember it so well. The sunlit field ending reminds me of Josette in River Legacy. Intense sunlight, woman with long hair and fingers. I added Dollmore updates to my blocked list a while ago. I would never have bought Josette if I hadn't been on the damned list anyway, and I have no way of communicating an unsubscribe to them.

This week has been Model week, Model manhwa and Dollmore Model. Why do I keep hoping there's going to be some place for it in my life when there never will be?

I try and look for some other form of beauty, but none is so intense. I can't deny the life-giving inspiration those memories give me. When I close off the memories and my feelings I feel like a black-swathed nun, and that life has nothing to offer me.

Popular posts from this blog

New place

This is the second lunch I've passed in this downtown Barnes and Noble. I like this place. If I worked here I would undoubtedly come here for lunch. It is going to be hard forfeiting the hour and fifteen lunches, but normal life is less stressful than this. I am not cut out for city living. I still had driving troubles today. These one way streets are so difficult. I don't understand parking, and I like finding locations that I "cain't miss" from the road. Everything is so densely packed. Everyone else seems to have walked somewhere, but I celebrate lunchtime as the time to get as far away from the work as possble with as much comfort as possible, and Subway, I'm sorry, is not comfortable. Last night I slept from 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. when I had to call in. I have slept so much lately, but I feel in such a muddle. My head is pounding. If I were home I don't think I could put myself together enough to do any of my things. I really long to do things, too. Writing...

Gervaise

1789 Gervaise was the first one to enter Delphinia's bedchamber. Golden light spread through a crack in the white curtains, throwing a lacey pattern onto the silk-shrouded bed. Delphinia lay in the finest guest bedchamber in the castle. It had been converted from the room of the dowager Markgrafin upon her death. Though Gervaise's entrance was not quiet, there was no stirring in the midst of the great bed. Gently Gervaise laid down the tray of chocolate and great cinnamon rolls and approached the bed, pushing aside the curtain to view the prone figure there. Delphinia lay in a contorted state, her limbs drawn up against her protectively, looking like a frightened child, though she was in the depths of sleep. Her hair, dark-colored, the finer strands gilded and curling around her face and brow, was mangled, freed from its pins without a combing. She wore a loose white shift, no nightgown. Gervaise was not offended by disorder or carelessness, but Delphinia's disarray gave he...