I arrived home from Melbourne on Sunday and since then I’ve slept all the wrong hours because that’s how I roll now. If anyone’s awake at 3 or 4 or 5am and needs someone to talk to, hit me up because I’m around, probably reading, writing, farming and frontiering on Facebook, watching Xena: Warrior Princess and worrying all at the same time.
The entire two week trip felt like two years which isn’t a surprise because that’s also how I roll. Time doesn’t mean anything to me anymore because days feel like weeks and weeks continue to feel like years and I’m sure when I look back a year from now I’ll think – oh that? Wasn’t that like 45 years ago? What do you mean I’m only 34? I’m not even joking…there must be a tear in the time-space continuum because I have no fucking clue what day it is or what time it is or whatever. I’m just sitting here, oblivious, responding to a series of noises that tell me what to do and when. I’ve scheduled alarms on my phone to remind me to get up or go to work or meditate or go to the gym and maybe think about eating something, otherwise I just lay in bed and think about anything that is thinkable and, dear god, there is JUST. SO. MUCH. that is thinkable. Seriously.
I didn’t write as much about this trip as I had hoped because it didn’t go as I had hoped and I spent the majority of my time there alone, wandering the streets and spending entirely too much money on boots. It’s a tough trip to explain to people who have excitedly asked me how things went, because I don’t really know how to break it down without going into a long and detailed back-story that I still don’t have my brain wrapped entirely around. Regardless of the circumstances that brought me into that self-imposed isolation, within that, I learned some ridiculously important and hard-earned life lessons and don’t you worry! I’ll talk about those in great detail as the days go on. YAY!
While I was there I got a tattoo:
On my last day in Melbourne I sat at Starbucks, ate a croissant, drank some coffee and wrote. As I did, a pigeon visited me and pecked at the remains of my little snack. Its legs were tangled in a mess of string and it was missing some toes and could only hobble about, but it seemed almost content. That bird was happy just to sit and eat as I watched and snapped pictures. I don’t know what it was about that pigeon, but it made me smile. I felt a certain joy. Maybe because, though it was all tangled and messy, it didn’t seem to mind. It could still fly. Maybe I can do the same – though I am tangled up in a web of indescribable feelings and heartbreak , though this may not be the life I wanted, the life I expected or hoped for, it is the life I have and it’s up to me to make the best of it. I can still fly.