I took a walk through the neighborhood a few nights ago. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was only a few hours away from setting. The air was crisp and somebody, somewhere was burning something. I was listening to Social Distortion in my earbuds and I was just taking my time. My husband was hanging out with a friend at his place and it was just me and suburbia and Social D, singing to me about machine gun blues. Mmm, I love it.
It's been awhile since I walked it out. That's what I call it. "Walking it out". When I've got a lot on my mind and I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing about it so I just put on my Converse, put on some good music, and do just that. Not only am I clearing my head this way, but I'm getting some excercise. Bonus. Pretty soon it will be too cold to do this, so I should probably get it out of my system now.
It's been a long, exhausting, depressing two years. I'm not going into details now. I'll save the real heavy stuff for later. But it gets to me. A lot. And there's only so many times I can sit in front of my husband and cry to him and watch him look incredibly helpless. He's sad too, but he doesn't express it as openly as I do. I don't want to dump it all on him, or my friends either.
So I got to thinking about things while I was walking it out. I was being very observant and I was looking at everything around me. The perfect two story homes with two car garages, made of brick and shingles. The perfectly trimmed and manicured lawns, the different kinds of mailboxes each house has. How some yards have fences and some don't. How some driveways had three cars parked in them, while some had none. But it was the alluring shaded areas of grass underneath the maple trees that caught my eye.
When I was a young girl, I would spend hours sitting outside, underneath a tree in the shade. I would sprawl out on a duvet I dragged off of my bed and read magazines. I remember reading mystery magazines, ones with murderous endings and scandoulous scenes. I'm not sure these magazines even exist anymore, I haven't seen one in ages. I would pick at the blades of grass. I would allow lady bugs to crawl all over me. I would lay on my back and stare up at the leaves and ponder my existence as a twelve year old girl with so much to look forward in her life. Oh, to be a teenager. To be wanted and desired. To be pretty, tall, and awesome. (Of those last three, I was lucky to be two of those. Tall was not one of them.)
As I was walking it out and thinking about this random memory, I thought to myself, when did I stop doing that? When did I quit laying in the grass, reading silly mystery magazines? Did I just stop doing it one day, quit cold turkey, and decided to grow up? When was the turning point? And then, I felt sad for my younger self, the one who misses those moments. Those little slices of solitude, of quietness, of contentment. It was so peaceful under those trees. Just me and my duvet and my shady spot. Until the day I decided to give it up.
And now I am the ripe old age of 27. And I feel a hell of a lot older than that, I will be honest. I have gone through a lot and I'm not just saying that to get attention. This blog has officially been created to be my personal outlet and therepy. I do not seek attention or anything of the like. And just knowing that maybe, somewhere someone is reading this and may be able to relate, helps me.
Sigh...my glass pinot noir is almost empty. What a sad ending to my first blogging endeavor. Oh well, stay thirsty my friends. (I know, that has nothing to do with red wine but I digress..it sounded appropriate.)
Ciao.
