Tag Archives: just write

Wet Pavement.

Tonight as I walked into my parking garage on my way home from work, I was greeted by a familiar smell and feeling. Something about the combination of wet pavement and reflections of street lights that brings me back to those nights in college where I’d be walking from somewhere. Alone. At an inappropriate hours.

I remember walking home from a friend’s dorm room at 5am on multiple occasions. At the time I thought he could be more than a friend and so I tried to force it and became accustomed to late night movies and sleepovers where nothing happened.

I remember walking home from another friend’s dorm room after thinking maybe there could be something there and watching a meteor shower from atop the roof. There was nothing there, but I thought about it for at least a minute.

I remember walking just to walk, at times when I shouldn’t be.

So now, every time I smell that smell that reminds me of those lonely walks, all these thoughts come flooding back and all I can really say about that is “It’s almost spring.”

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This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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Dark Dreams/Dark Thoughts.

I had a dream about the end of the world last night. It was not a dark dream despite the topic, because the end did not happen. It was supposed to, according to an ancient calendar, but it didn’t. All the damage and changes done to the earth by humans had changed the rotation of the earth ever so slightly, but just enough that it caused a meteor that would have ended everything had the earth been in the state it was at the time that calendar was made to just land with a large thud. Everything shook and I’d imagine entire populations were wiped out in a localized area, but the world was still there and I woke up.

When I was eleven (or maybe ten) at girl scout camp, an older girl read my palm. She informed me I would die at age twelve. As I approached age twelve, I slept less and less. Once I hit twelve, sleep was hard to come by. I would think of her prediction–it must be true!–as I laid there in bed and my mind would race. It would go from one thing to another to another. And I knew I was going to die. It would become hard to breath and I would want to cry but I couldn’t–it was all too much. Most nights I would crawl down stairs to sleep on my parents’ floor . . . I couldn’t die if I slept there, could I?! I remember one particular night that I went downstairs and I caught my mom watching some old western on the tv. I do not to this day know what it was, but I remember a young blonde boy or girl who knew he or she was dying talking to an older man about it. And it wrecked me. And I finally told my mom. And she told me that girl was full of bullshit.

And I learned to interpret the break in my heart line as something else. After all, it was just a break in an otherwise long line.

But still to this day, there are moments when I think of my mortality and just gasp. The train leaves the station and I find myself thinking of “what happens next?” and “where does the universe end?” and “WHY?” until I find myself having to sometimes literally slap myself in the face and say “NO! STOP THINKING!” until I actually do stop.

I suppose this is all normal; something we all think about but do not discuss unless in philosophy class or in church or with our scientist friends. But still . . . it gets me every time.

These thoughts . . . they really aren’t that dark. But they are there, hiding in the dark of my mind and sometimes I can be scared of the dark.

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This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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Ellipsis.

You took a period and turned into an ellipsis.

I didn’t even have to answer for that change to go into effect.

You put into motion an eruption of emotion I didn’t know I was there. But it had to be expressed.

An ellipsis is fine. An ellipsis was the status quo for so long. But I had come to accept the period; an occasional question mark. The exclamations had passed.

But an ellipsis . . . that’s something I don’t know what to do with.

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This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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The Line.

There’s this invisible line somewhere on our lives that changes everything. It can be a wide line–a thick boundary like the Mississippi River–or as undetectable as a precinct line. But it’s there. There’s this invisible line and you usually don’t even know you’ve crossed it until you’re well over on to the other side.

I don’t know where I am. I do, but I don’t. It’s like I’m wading in a murky river, toeing the line or straddling it. I can still see both sides very clearly,  but I have this pressing feeling one side will soon be farther than the other.

It’s like this: you’re a kid and you enjoy friday movie nights at home with your family. Then you reach a certain age and staying home on a Friday is the last thing you want to do. Then you’re to the point where you can’t remember the last friday night you spent at home, and then suddenly you’re craving it again.

It’s a bell curve, pretty much. (Bell curve courtesy of Economics Help.)

And now I realize this sounds like I’m talking about middle age, but I’m not. I’m not there yet. This is something else, so similar yet so different.

This is growing up.

Some hit that line sooner than others, by sheer will or circumstances out of their control.

And then there’s me.

It’s not an issue of maturity vs. immaturity–I get that. But priorities and comfort and contentment.  It’s what stimulates you and where you find your heart taking you.

I’m still figuring it all out. I tend to over-think things (when I’m not making rash decisions, that is).

It’s that point where going out becomes sad rather than fun (I’m not there).

It’s that point where renting gives way to home ownership (I’m not there).

It’s that point where running a mile becomes a chore (I’m there).

It’s that point where you learn to pick your battles (I’m getting there).

And maybe it’s not so much a single point but a set of points that together form a line and maybe that line isn’t a straight line and maybe that line doesn’t fall in the same place for every person. I’m getting that.

But the line is there and someday I’ll know I’ve passed it (be it by swimming, by air, by digging, by walking, or by closing my eyes and running as fast as I can through it).

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This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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Grace.

grace /grās/: Simple elegance or refinement of movement.

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I sat across from her today and was brought back to the last time I sat before her–when she had to deliver the news and I felt the crushing weight of knowing I had failed someone who I had such a strong respect for, someone for whom I had fierce loyalty. And I remembered how as those words dropped I quietly composed myself, hands folded on my lap, and looked her in the eye and said I understood and thanked her.

Grace.

Today, we were both the epitome of grace in that funny, comfortable, awkward way. It was needed. I may have let her down, but I hadn’t let her down. There are no grudges on either side, only grace. And laughter. And much needed chit chat.

Grace.

Some days I still struggle with pettiness and immaturity. I struggle to fight back mean words or speculation that would have no role but to stir things up and replace respect with distrust or annoyance. I won’t pick fights for the sake of picking fights or sweat the small things.

Grace.

Now, I try and think things through so I can properly communicate just what it is that is bothering me. If I say it to myself and it sounds hypocritical or juvenile, I sleep on it.

Grace.

It’s not perfection and it’s still a learning curve. And it seems each week there is something new I am learning to hold back or refine. (And this isn’t a lesson in swallowing my words or wallowing–it’s a lesson in finding the best way to express these things.)

I’m getting there.

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This post was written as a Just Write exercise. A good challenge to get the rust off and find my creativity once more. Bear with me while I attempt to find it!

Check out others’  Just Write posts here.

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