- air bubbles rise and demand release; i comply.

- here’s a general principle: sleepy people shouldn’t be made to consider cross generational relationships.

- there was a flybug that got wet against the inner wall of my cup, but after some time, when i looked inside again, it’d dried and flown off.

most people i’ve told have reacted along congratulary lines; but somehow it’s not just about happiness, or relief even. the year- the last day itself- wasn’t so simple.

a thought strikes me- perhaps yesterday was a fairly accurate composition of the whole year in its multifold layers, demands and complexity/complication. the last all too summarised in the talk i had with my head; an intensity and explanation i could have done without. but it was permitted to materialise; i submit to my highest authority.

admitting failures and slip ups to whom i was accountable, was a rather awful experience. i would rather it not happen again, and will take pains to ensure so.

there. words for experiences i didn’t have for 24 hours; now my insides can stop being clogged, thank you very much.

part of me wants to just sit here and dream away, rest, holiday, things like that but i’ll have to find other ways to recharge.
still, it’s not so bad; naming the experience has been liberating enough: now the rest can flow.

postponement of first round was really quite a blow, considering all things. like i told mary-ruth; it felt like i’d all things stacked together- tight but things were in place- and this news is like a jenga block got removed and everything crashed down. ah:/

if i were to divide each day into three, that means in a week of waking hours i have 3×7 = 21 slots. work = 5, camp prep will take up 3, visting home-bound people = 2, bs = 1, annual meet ups/farewells = 2, churchy stuff = 3-4 -that’s 17 slots and the only reason why it’s not full 21 is because thursday is open and i’m using one slot now. but it’s no point counting because i have to rework everything.

things to do- work, camp stuff, people stuff, visits, prep for 12th. and during camp itself it’ll be more preparing for the 12th. although i don’t know if i’m over preparing. whatever.

okay time to be specific. i want ice cream.

sigh. well i don’t know why it is and i don’t know why i do it. i do know, though, that the feeling is i’d rather not be tied to it. but, there is no justification for turning my back and i’m not so sure it isn’t wrong. so i’ll carry on, until something more definite happens.

for now though, it’s weighing upon my heart.

today, walking home, something struck, like one more layer unwound and it occured to me that i am incredulous- at how much i suppressed, the feeling the lifting of another veil.

1) it’s sometimes blindingly clear that i’ve got my mum’s personality and my dad’s character. and then, like my dad says, i’ve got something all of my own. which, as far as i’m concerned, is a pretty good combination.

2) imagination- learning more fully, that imagination is futile, and unredeemed, little more than meaningless attempts at control. the vanity of it all.

3) has it really been six years since those driven days? and six years of growing since. now the winds have shifted; there’s a different smell in the air. i’m flexing my still-wet wings, soon i will fly.

epiphanies of sorts; too long i’ve been looking in, or not looking at all. in time to come i will aim far and i will aim high; false insecurities discarded for the binds they really are. shucks, why did i repress myself for this many years? too many skeletons, i wager.

no holds barred.

danny says we’re old now, but i think it’s a good kind of old. although, so many things have happened over the past two, three years, i have loose ends streaming here and there. i suppose some stories take awhile.

i leave soon, my usual retreat to the mountains. to think over- what, this year, last year, the past two, three years. this year was quite tiring after all. practically every year flies by and we exclaim in disbelief; this one didn’t.

according to the first page of fissions, these were what happened: john’s leaving, a consideration of the past four years, and the beginning of this. well i’m at the end now. mm and hobbamp.

danny tells me to “just write stuff in (my) journal”, and joy has just called in panic over messenger bags. travis is playing on my itunes, the last thing my bedroom will hear before i return with the new year. i think i’m done packing, getting ready to bid the year goodbye. farewell.

back from anntic and ifg retreat; back from coldness and into warmth. and the usual dislocation- i don’t want to check my mail.

other news: i got stung, by something, from behind. i knifed a friend, and rummaged around her foot to dig out a hairspan of a sting a bee left in mortal agony, curling and recurling around itself. z took over after i made the incision; there are ways we still work together; we’ve always worked well together.

-

ehh, can i not check my mail till 2011?