Friday, May 29, 2009

Among the Darbies


I do not believe in fatalism. I understand cause and effect and believe wholeheartedly that a decision as simple as whether or not to board a bus could very well change the entire course of your life. And yet: I cannot help but deny a certain untouchable defeatist element to existence.

And: yes, yes. I know. Everyone feels this way at some point: or else we wouldn’t have clich├ęs about camels and straw; or laws like Murphy’s.

But it’s this precise realization that makes me so quick to wonder: why bother at all.

Imagine for a moment that you did everything to create a comfortable life for yourself: the life you wanted, even. But what if the harder you tried, the further that dream went away?

Just another classic case of Tantalus, you might say.


And I say this: I’m not talking about water and grapes. This is life: a vacant and meaningless existence treading dangerously close to an irretrievably crushed spirit.



Recently someone said he admired me because no matter what happened, nothing ever gets to my core.

I appreciate what I consider to be a compliment, but I doubt its accuracy.


Because these things, little by little, are getting to me. And with so much of everything collapsing around me, I feel at times I have only myself to blame. And yet: I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I don’t know what I could’ve done differently.



And so: day after day, these experiences tear at me from the inside. I try to heal old wounds and a new one arises; I stop one leak, and a bigger one begins.



But if I must be the girl who serves as a godmother – but never a parent – so be it. If I must be the girl who has to choose between backpacking across Scotland alone or not going at all, I will choose the former.


And yet: why it is come to this, I will never understand. These shelves of unwatched books; lists of “must see” movies and unseen vistas. Hopes and dreams that once seemed inevitable have somehow become insurmountable peaks.


They grow; they loom; they taunt. Fates approach in the distance; growing larger and larger, scissors poised before my string.

This is not the life I fought for. This is not the life I wanted.


This is the life that found me.



But tell me why – like Sisyphus – I scale the mountain all the same.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

And People Call These "Weeds"

I'll never understand.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Wind in Slow Motion























I shot these at the "wrong" shutter speed and almost deleted them. And yet: I wound up preferring them over most other photos I took this past weekend. Not to mention, my camera broke some 30 minutes thereafter, and I figured I may as well post the last images my Canon G7 produced. It'll be awhile before I can afford another.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Variations of the Same

It's not that I'm back. It's just that I know, deep down, I won't be safe anywhere.