i was wrong about the weather yesterday; it never cleared up, rather, it rained for the better part of the day. rainy days have such a personal feel to them, like they’re all mine. the day felt very still in the midst of everything going on in it. i stood on my porch for a moment in the early evening, under the Christmas lights i’d wrapped around the beams, and the air was cool, wet and thick. the sky was that deep blue, and the silhouettes of the trees were black. for a moment, i was taken to a climbing trip my friends and i went on in high school, one of the most magical times of my life, southern Kentucky in the mountains, camping behind this pizza shack, rained out and huddled in a one room hut, watching cirque de soleil on a black and white set with 15 other smelly climbers. i remember the fog, thick and heavy like soup, the campfire, sneaking up to the gravel car park to have a smoke.

the moment on the porch wasn’t lost because of my memory, rather, it stood on ground as testaments to the freedom i have. there are people in the world who will never have the opportunity to stand on their porch, catch a moment after the day, and relive beautiful memories. there are people who will never have that because someone takes it away from them or because their own fear stops them in their tracks. we are so lucky in this.

a few days ago, i had a telephone conversation with a friend that shook me and pissed me right off. and, apparently, it was just what i needed. i feel as though i’ve acted like a shithead lately, to myself, to my boyfriend, to my fellow drivers. i woke up this morning from a mostly peaceful sleep, the first out of a string of fitful nights, and i feel more like myself than i have in a while. i feel taller. it seems as though i have been shrinking myself down every day, feeling fat, being too critical of myself and everyone else, settling into some comfortable places that aren’t where i need to be. eating poorly, not having compassion, not being active. i don’t give myself enough credit for being cyclical in my emotions, the ebbs and flows, although i feel much better to be on this crest of feeling than in the—what’s the word that describes the bottom part of a wave? well, than to be there.

14/12/06