Perfecting the Smokey Eye

Ah. Back to the days of words that define and make sense of what life cannot explain of its own accord. Away from hiding in my own head, thoughts churning and growing and gnawing until they become an existence unto themselves. I have missed this.
I work now. I'm full-time for the first time since I started school, and I am honestly loving it. I was unsure as to what my own self's reaction would be once I started; my personal will is occasionally  thwarted by my inner self's more prominent tastes and desires. Much to my surprise, there was no revolt and I am happily employed. It's amazing to find myself leaving work with a twinge of regret, but also with excitement to come back the next day. I haven't felt that way about a job in a very long time.
I have more health junk happening. It's like it never really ends to be honest. It feels like I'm being a downer, but in reality I am just trying to be as accurate about the Right Now as possible. Unfortunately dirt makes up a big enough portion to demand an audience, even if only of one.
I have a love with a man that is deeper than all the rest. Plumbing this ocean's depths shows me the futility of a snorkel in a kiddie pool. There are sharks and yucky seaweeds and sometimes the salt water goes up my nose, but the thrill I get down there is second to none. The beauty of breaking the surface at dawn and the candid joy of discovery at each stroke makes every wave-battered bruise worth it. I love him beyond the deep.
I read trash novels (i.e. the Left Behind series), drink boring teas, wear ugly sweaters with gusto, forget constantly how to apply make-up (though I am getting dangerously close to perfecting the smokey eye), forget the most important words in my sentences as a matter of habit, forget to eat lunch because I am caught up in my work (which I never understood in others and understand even less in myself), watch shows that embarrass my boyfriend but make me feel less alone in the world, correct run-on sentences for a living yet use them like I use my air, and forget on a regular basis why I am here at all.
Tomorrow is new. Tomorrow is useful to learn why.


I Am My Own Best Counsel

Just reading old blogs that I haven't touched in months, and there they are: the words I have been stuttering out over the last few weeks as I have sorted through this mess to find some answers. All my brilliance, all the thoughts that it took all my energy to dredge up were already here in black and white, right under my nose. At least now I know I am on the right track.

I have a big decision to make, bigger than other ones I thought were big. I have been offered a good job, the one I want, and my chest tightens every time I think about it. If I take it, I might burn out and never recover (hello, Fear! You've been MIA lately); if I don't take it, then it'll screw me out of a job in the fall, the job I really really want. I feel...trapped. AHHA! Oh self-illumination, you've done it again. I feel trapped. I do not feel free to make a decision because both feel like the wrong one. Is there another one? Is there something in between, or something so far outside the box that it makes these look like twin suckers? 

Leanne, you have to make a decision. This is your life, and you're never waking up.


In Mourning

When something traumatic occurs that forces life to change unalterably, a piece of you dies. I don't mean in some strange, emo way, but rather a piece of the You that you might have been. With it goes an entire life of choices, would-haves, and should-bes that can never be chosen now. 

I have never been "good" at mourning, if it's even possible to be good at something like that. Some people just seem to have a knack for dealing with the hand that is dealt, going through the five stages and whatnot, and then moving on with their lives. I tend to stay as shallow as possible; if the pain were to actually reach the depths of my heart and break and bend things to the point where they could be reset and healed, I would begin to forget and let go. How could I ever let myself forget? And I am no better when it comes to mourning myself.

The last three years have been...difficult. That doesn't even begin to describe it. And now that I am stepping out and can see the sun again, I am realizing that the only piece of my life that is missing is me: the Me I wanted to be, the Me I should have been. I can never have that life, I can never be that girl, and no one else could understand. The war is over, I've come back home, and everyone else is going on with their lives as usual while I try to adapt to life without using weapons as answers. 

My life is great, I have everything for which I could ask. The only thing missing is me.



New year. New month. New day. It's really too bad that I cannot separate 2012 from the idea of doomsday. Ugh. I have such a good feeling about this year that goes completely against that idea. I have that nervous feeling in my stomach when I think about it (the year, not the end of the world) - like right before I go on stage and I know that I know my lines, but who knows what will happen? - and there is so many possibilities and corners and opportunities for triumph and failure that it makes my knees weak. So much can change in a year. I never imagined I would be here this time last year; this, right here, is a dream come true (believe it or not) in so many ways. God has blessed me abundantly, and I know it's only going to continue (whether I recognize it or not).

Resolutions? Not many. They're more 'heart' things than 'do' things. I would love to be a more generous, encouraging, uplifting person by this time next year; there should be a marked difference in my thoughts, words and actions. Of course there's always the desire to eat right and exercise, but I think, at this point at least, that my heart matters more.