It’s almost seven and I think I’ve been up for almost two hours now. The freshly washed comforter kept me in bed longer than I probably should have stayed (it just smelled so good and felt so clean). I hate feeling like I’m wasting my time staying in place thinking. I do enough of that when I’m staring at my computer screen trying to decide how far past the front page I want to browse Reddit or if I can will myself to do something more productive.
Public blogs feel so final. Maybe that’s why I’ve got four pending drafts that I’ll likely end up deleting. Something about them being new and public also inhibits me from wanting to delve into anything worth writing about. The second I get to that point, I end up closing out the browser and doing who knows what else. I don’t know what to do with my time anymore. I guess you could say I’m a bit depressed. I’m tired of worrying about money and I’m tired of always needing it. I wish I could buy a new Nikon and go on trips with Jamie. But money. There’s always money. We need it. We never have it. I also wish I could go to that expansive universe that is my imagination, but I can’t seem to find my way back. I feel like Peter Pan in Hook when he goes back to Neverland and is trying to remember what it’s like to be carefree with happy thoughts that make you fly. At one point in my life I could see all those bright colored creams used as ammo amidst the steaming feast, but now all I see are empty bowls.
I’ve been in a weird place lately where I feel stuck. All I can will myself to do is something mindless, like play an open-world/sandbox game like Fallout or browse Reddit. Part of me thinks I should go back to bed and another part is nagging me to take advantage of the odd time of morning and write something. I think I’ll definitely be one of those old people who just stares out into the abyss all day, because even now that’s all I feel like I’m doing than typing out anything.
I’ve been trying to be more mindful of the sort of things that have been occupying my thoughts. I’m so stuck in my head I feel like there’s something going on up there that could be put to use somehow. Reminding me of which, I really need to put batteries in my voice recorder my brother bought me a few years ago. Sometimes I have a really great thought and it might even be just a line, but since I’m usually driving or don’t record it it gets lost. I’m hoping the recorder will help.
I think I’m getting tired enough to go back to bed. This is unfortunately about when Jamie decides to wake up. And I say unfortunately only because all I want to do in that moment is be in our bed cocoon be asleep together.
Edit: So far she’s still asleep, but it’s only 8, so we’ll see. Then again, she passed out around 10 last night.
When I wake before her, sometimes the morning is just so perfect: it’s quiet, there’s just the right amount of daylight and fresh breeze outside and you can hear toads and birds singing. These kinds of mornings make me think of Tuck Everlasting. It was one of the first full length books I remember having to read in school, and when I think about it, I was given a decent book list that year because I also remember reading The Hobbit and The Diary of Anne Frank. But in Tuck Everlasting, I think I remember something about the description of their safe little place: something so intimate and almost tribal, tucked away and undisturbed by outsiders. It’s a place I imagine myself able to lay down on the ground on my back, hands behind my head with my eyes closed, breathing in deeply the smell of the forest. You can hear birds chirping and frogs calling to each other. I imagined it being very green. So green that it surrounds you and there’s no this way or that way. There’s only the little grove you’ve found yourself in and in the distance you can hear the running of water. That’s the spring. The water that somehow no one else in the world has found but has allowed this one Alaskan Bush People-type family to live forever. Them, and this poor fucking frog that has jumped in front of who knows how many cars trying to kill itself. Can you imagine being a frog forever?
I remember thinking a lot about that ending and I suppose it’s something I think a lot about with characters who are supposedly doomed to live forever: you look like you’re a teenager but you’re really like an old-ass person who should probably have great grand-kids but you fall in love with an actual teenager. Kidding, though that’s something worth considering, because it’s weird, but for me what was interesting was the maturity of the Tuck boy not letting that young girl drink the water to be with him forever too. I think he wanted to give her a few years to think about it? I’m not sure, though I know it was one of those stories that I would have been elated to have seen in movie form at the time. I should do 12 year old myself a favor and just watch it. Admittedly, I think a part of me has held off on seeing the actual movie because I am worried it will ruin these mornings for me when I go outside and it looks green and beautiful and sounds peaceful and I think to myself, “Tuck Everlasting,” – it’s the most peaceful place in the world I can think of.