May 16, 2012

a good life

Sometimes I think it's enough. Enough already. So much sadness. Death and sadness and sad pictures and sad faces and sad words and my baby died and maybe if I am sad enough no will forget that.

I don't want anyone to forget that. I love you, all of you. I'm not telling you not to be sad. Be whatever you are. Be sad forever if you want, if it seems right. But I am so tired. I don't want to be sad forever. And I think maybe it is enough.

The tickers crouch on my sidebar, calculating silently, and I don't look at them directly for ages. Or I look at them and the numbers jab at me like spindly fingers, sharp and accusing. Eyeball, heart, stomach, lung: poke, poke, poke. And it hurts. It hurts and it's sad and it's not helping. Maybe it is okay to lose count of the days. (What are hours and months and days, to an eternal creature? And aren't they all eternal, now? And if part of us is with them, isn't part of us eternal too?) I think I'll take the tickers down, once I've come up with something to replace them with.

My thoughts run where they will and I suppose it might look a little gloomy around here at times. I may seem to dwell overmuch on the macabre, I don't know. But I am happy. I am really fucking happy, actually. I have a good life, a better one than I've ever had before or ever would have thought I could have. Every day is better than the last--even when it doesn't feel like it is. The people in my life love me, I don't have to hide or be afraid. I am doing meaningful work that I am good at. I have friends. I am meeting new people. I am more and more myself. And I am not sorry for or ashamed of a single thing I have ever done.

If that is not a good life, I don't know what is.


  1. This is lovely! I'm not quite ready to lose the counter but I rarely look anymore. I like your thoughts on how the passsage of time does not matter to them as eternal beings.

  2. I think I'm here too. That it's enough. I'm tired and disheartened and I hear time ticking away. The numbers poke at me too. And I'm missing the ones that are here and the eternal one is just that, eternal. She has fallen out of time, years ago or just yesterday or at some point in the future. Who knows? Time is irrelevant to her and the part of me that is with her. Why do I even squat here, like a miserable toad, on the internetz, counting off the years? When will I stop?

    As for not being sorry or ashamed of a single thing that you have ever done? Every day better than the last? Becoming more and more yourself? That is a life well lived. I can think of no better definitions. You are not barely breathing and calling that a life. You are living. I hope to do the same eventually.

  3. Not gloomy, not macabre.

    “Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost, but climb.”

    ― Edna St. Vincent Millay

    Which is what you do, Vera Kate, livingly, breathingly.