Last night, I took to burning things. (Ok. Just one thing. I’m not an arsonist.)
My friend and I wrote down all the negative things we could think of, and then we burned the piece of paper, trying not to burn ourselves or anything else. As far as I can tell, we were successful.
It felt kind of good, though I am not naive enough to believe that this means that all the negativity is gone – the world is still here, which means cunts still exist.
But I am at a crux – I can feel it. I have been holding onto dead weight. I have been waiting on a large scale, to receive the break in all the chaos, and the peace of mind, and the grand gestures to let me know that I mattered, and the reciprocity because I sometimes didn’t recognize grand gestures.
And it never happened, because it never wanted to – because I didn’t let it.
So I burned it. I burned the worry, and the doubt, and the “what NOW”. I burned my complaints and my judgments. I burned the feeling of not being enough, of being at fault, of doing it all wrong because it was the only way to feel.
I have no idea what this year will hold. But I have 364 more days to see what happens.
(And I’m gonna try to do this writing thing, because this guy reminded me that I used to do that on a regular basis. While you’re there reading his writing, check out his art. It’s the coolest.)
On. Up. Away.