With another birthday looming I look inwards.

My pack, my family. Wide and far now. I miss them all. We still stay in touch if only for fleeting moments but when together we are one again, always. There is joy at having physical touch, joy in looking at each others eyes and seeing the past before us all. Sorrow at those we have lost along the way. Only a lifetime of memories hold those friendships together, wisdom with life experiences and going through hell and back and holding each other up along the way. Arguments were non existant. There was no need, we understand each other well. We know when another is hurting, we nurture and love and move forward never leaving anyone behind. There are no mistakes only lessons to be learned. A level of trust, love and understanding build bridges that have solid foundations.

We have all thrived and learnt such valuable lessons from each other. These are cherished.

In a world so fickle and consumer orientated our gatherings are always in the middle of nowhere. Mother nature at our disposal and the light of the moon and the voices of the trees. Back to what matters.

I have learned so many lessons from these friendships that they carry me forward in life. I have learnt what matters to me.

He who is lost taught us to all love music, making it, singing it and breathing it. His cynical ways taught us acceptance. his quirky humor taught us to laugh at the impossible and see the irony of bad situations. He taught us that when things are bad and you feel alone you are not, you have your family. His death taught us to reach out and ask for help and to protect and look after those who feel alone.

She who is lost taught us to face fear in the eyes and scream at it until it backs down. She taught us that even with all the horrible things that can happen in life there is still laughter and love and good things can still happen. People have hearts. She taught us to see past the insecurities and see the ‘person’.

Nights around a fire, laughing, talking, hugging and enjoying being in the moment.

I will always remember the phrase we all live by, ” Futures past fast forwards into the Backwards. Be in the Now”

I want to go home for xmas. Where my blood runs wild, where I can stop at a grave or two and say hello again. And where this time, it’s time to scatter pup’s ashes and reconnect with a place that holds my heart and the majority of my adult life.

Home.

“My heart is weak and unreliable. When I go it will be my heart. I try to burden it as little as possible. If something is going to have an impact I direct it elsewhere. My gut for example, or my lungs, which might seize up for a moment but have never yet failed to take another breath.

The pancreas I reserve for being struck by all that’s been lost. It’s true that there’s so much, and the organ is so small. But. You would be surprised by how much it can take, all I feel is a quick sharp pain and then it’s over. Sometimes I imagine my own autopsy. Disappointment in myself: right kidney. Disappointment of others in me: left kidney.

I don’t mean to make it sound like I’ve made a science of it. It’s not that well thought out. I take it where it comes. It’s just that I notice certain patterns.

When the clocks are turned back and the dark falls before I’m ready, this, for reasons I can’t explain, I feel in my wrists. And when I wake up and my fingers are stiff, almost certainly I was dreaming of my childhood. The field where we used to play, the field in which everything was discovered and everything was possible.

(We ran so hard we thought we would spit blood: to me that is the sound of childhood, heavy breathing and shoes scraping the hard earth.)

Stiffness of the fingers is the dream of childhood as it’s been returned to me at the end of my life. I have to run them under the hot water, steam clouding the mirror, outside the rustle of pigeons.

Yesterday I saw a man kicking a dog and I felt it behind my eyes. I don’t know what to call this, a place before tears. The pain of forgetting: spine. The pain of remembering: spine.

Loneliness: there is no organ that can take it all.”

–The History of Love by Nicole Krauss

Having the ex around has completely thrown me out of kilter in the past couple of weeks. Being made aware that he has been holding on to an idea that his trip home would result in rekindling our long past relationship after all this time has brought all sorts of emotions to the fore and a few lightbulb moments.

The first emotion? Anger.

Lots of it. A great deal. Anger that I spent so much time hurting at the flippancy of the end of the life we had built and the fact he’d moved on so quickly and got married within the first year. And then a rage when his marriage failed and suddenly kiddo and I were in his sights again, he’d told his friend he realised what he’d lost. I embraced my anger and knew that I needed to feel this anger and then process it.

I have. I’m not angry anymore.

If anything I am sad.

I’m sad because I know what we had a long time ago, before all the shit turned horrid. Then I remembered that feeling wasn’t a one off. I’ve felt it before, sometimes I still crave it, other times I am completely selfish and I appreciate my solitary life at the moment. The beginnings of love, being so immersed it fuels your world, and something everyone should experience and relish.

Point is that was gone. It died way before we split.

But. I do want it back just not with him.

Then a feeling washed over me and I have some peace of mind. Pride in myself that I have grown and moved forward and the realisation that I am strong in myself enough to know what I do want and what I don’t want anymore. I want the best for kiddo and I want the best for him.

Most of all I want what’s best for me.

It’s not him.

One day he’ll work out it’s not me he wants it’s what we had.

You can choose to live in the past or move forward and start living.

I have whined and emo’d enough.

So.

No more moping. I am still adjusting to having the ex thrust himself into our lives again and from what I can gather from jilted conversations it may become a more regular thing. Well every three months or so anyways. Kiddo mentioned something about “Daddy said he’s gonna try get me to Australia”. Mummy … not so impressed. Slow down Joe. But anyhoo I’ll deal with that issue when it arrives. I gotta say he’s making a serious effort this time and kiddo is happy and that’s all that matters right now.

So yeah adjusting.

Rogue is giving me shit for being such a stresspot and rightly so, and quite enjoying rubbing it in. Heh.

I am a bonafide worrywart.

Apart from all that unwanted crap in my brain I have been knuckling down for my second semester. So far all A’s and B’s so I’m happy. Major photography stuff this semester in the studio which is fucking fantastically amazing to use. And loads of outside stuff. I am shit at using a camerabut I figure I have to come out of this a little better. Right? We also have more theory papaers this semester on semantics and design and also doing a paper on textile design. Oh and life drawing. God I hate that. I can’t draw people for shit. It’s also at an ungodly hour in the morning where I am sat there all zombie like and grumpy because I never have enough coffee to sustain a normal conversation at that hour of the morning.

We are having some weird as fuck extreme weather thing going on here atm. Yesterday was the coldest day here in my city since 1939. It’s Winter here and average temperatures means it’s fucking cold  (for me … shut up snow people) when it’s like 10 degrees or less. It’s been 2 degrees overnight. Most of the country is getting snow conditions that are extreme or places getting snow dumps that NEVER have snow. Rather weird.

The best thing? I have study week which means I can hibernate my little ass in my room with a heater while everyone else runs around outside in the weather that will freeze your nipples off.

‘grins’