On Solace

I am never alone. And on the very rare occasion that I selfishly insist on being alone, I find myself in the presence of guilt and thereby am still not alone.

I keep listening to the same song…something one can choose to do in solitary while hurting those that we love. Here I sit, at last, alone in my own home, repeating the Foo Fighter’s song “Razor” over and over and over again, all the while asking myself… how did I get here? At this very moment there are thousands that await to be fed, emaciated for lack of companionship, while I, undeservedly I assure you, I am in the presence of at least one other 24 hours a day seven days a week. Where one soul finds isolation another finds solace; how strange that both should occur in the same place.

Maybe the desire one has to be alone is merely an illusion; I question myself, do I yearn for quiet moments that I may hear the sound of my own heart beat...or do I need to hear the beat of another in order to recognize my own?

This seems like big news, and perhaps it is, my birth father called me. How strange and unfamiliar it feels to be typing those words as I hear them resonate in my mind.

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I am living in my own private hell. A place I have created, a space I alone fill. My voice is not heard, each word not projected. My thoughts are mere whispers on a far away hill.

The Gift

Jim surprised me yesterday with a very early birthday present. Neither one of us has the ability to hold back a present until the approaching holiday; the excitement of seeing another’s expression as they open a gift to which you gave so much thought always wins out! Everyone who knows me is aware that my favorite book is “To Kill A Mockingbird”; I read it every year. This summer I am reading it page by page to Perrie, at the end of each page illustrating with words the scene that just took place and emphasizing what I believe Perrie will find the most joy and familiarity with. This summer I am seeing the book for the first time through Perrie’s eyes. Befittingly, Jim surprised me with a copy of the 40th Anniversary edition, signed by Harper Lee. I was stunned; to know that Harper Lee held my book and it bore her signature made me feel giddy, it was Christmas morning and I am looking at my shiny new bike, it’s pink and white streamers glistening in the sun’s reflection off the snow.

Neglect

I have been neglecting Perrie’s blog, and my own; it feels as though there is always something impending, something more that I have to, need to, should, must, ought to be doing; cognitive distortions race through my mind as if flipping through the pages of a dictionary. There is so much I desire to write down, countless ideas and thoughts and ramblings; some of importance, but these are few. The same desires I have for writing engage my need to paint; the same feelings and distortions prevent me from accomplishing both.