It’s been a long while since I blogged. And I wonder if this is intentional. Subconsciously.

I certainly haven’t put intention into writing. Something I used to never want to stop doing. And that’s how it goes, that’s growing up; blah, blah, blah.

I have a propensity for giving up what I love as soon as things become serious. Not by choice, not usually. Some outside force ends the partnership but I don’t fight. I don’t hold on, white-knuckled. In the realest physical sense of letting go, I am an expert. In the lingering nostalgia and cherry pits jumping in my stomach at familiar intersections, in the right smells, his face on the same dating app I use… I have never let go. Mentally and emotionally my grip is kevlar: flexible to suit my needs and probably overkill in this situation.

The disconnect between my physical life and my imagined ideal life is jarring at times. Except for when it’s not. I don’t do grays, instead swinging wildly between loving the little life I have built for myself and tearing everything apart trying to start over. Again.

I have a propensity for being ungrateful. Not explicitly and not loudly, but I struggle to appreciate what is in front of me in favor of new ventures and ideas. I still struggle to live in the present. I think, at this point, most of us do.

The days are both long and short. The nights endless and finite. I don’t know which I prefer, just that no matter the case I am tired. But it is almost winter and winter always makes me tired. The snow a blanket, the cold an approval for five more minutes.

I would like to think winter is the problem but I know in the pith of my bones that I would still be tired in the endless summer of sunny California. Muggy Florida. Dusty Arizona. The tiredness begins with me. It’s been there since the beginning or at least as long as I can remember. The bags under my eyes in childhood photos serve as proof.

It’s as if I was never a child but am one still. Moody. Impatient. Quick to draw. Silly. Quick to laugh. A little too blunt for comfort but sensitive to my own medicine.

At least I have a propensity for self reflection even if it’s also self-indulgent.

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