My days have been flowing along so lovely and so easily, I almost want to squint ahead to look for whatever is inevitably going to trip me up. This is how I do things, though I know looking for the trip is essentially staging it, I can’t quite help myself. I am a sad girl through and through and even when the sadness gets diffused through the most beautiful of light, I have the unmistakable feeling that I will, eventually, remember myself again. The trouble with my feelings is that I cannot see beyond them. I don’t want to be so myopic, I just am. And so I must reconcile myself with that reality and instead of trying to grasp on to shards of emotions, I have to simply be content to let them exist. I know I will not remember them when they are gone, but I can remember their existence. That has to be enough.

Partially, I know, its just spring. No way around it, 70 degrees and sunny will lighten your load a bit. But it seems like I am turning a great corner, as well; that there is something (things?) remarkable beyond the bend. Not remarkable good, necessarily, just immense and different, viable. Life feels possible in a way it hasn’t in so long. Today someone mentioned a great big faith based arts and music festival in the UK in August, and though its highly unlikely I’ll be able to go (what with officiating James’ wedding the same month and my very small pool of vacay time) the potentiality still hovered in front of my face. Logistics didn’t seem quite as limiting as they have before. I got a casting call for a rock opera today (how could I possibly add another thing to my overwrought schedule?) and I thought about what I would audition with. I don’t mean these were idle dreams, fantasies waylaid by real life. I think I could do these things, these things and more. My boundaries are expanding, reworking themselves, becoming more fluid.

In the back of my head, I am nervous. But not nervous like I have been for so long, with carefully measured steps and obsessive over-thinking. I want intention, and I hope my caution will breed it, but I do not want stagnation in the face of anxiety.

Tonight I went out with the ladies from choir, even though none of the ones I *really* want to know went. I did it because I am remembering the person I was for so long, the creature who can and will talk to anyone, just because the story is worth it. I thought the other day about  how I hadn’t written in so long, not because I haven’t been generating enough stories of my own, but because without the reflection of other lives, my stories are just selfish preoccupations, and not worthy of analysis or repetition. Now that my ideas are pinging back and forth with other lives, I feel like a worthwhile human being again, like I’ve got a good story to tell, and a deep desire to hear the stories of other human beings.

In September, it will have been two years since I last published a zine. Cleaning out my art space, I found my letters from fellow zinesters, and realized I don’t know what lb is doing, if Stranger-Danger is even still up and running. I wonder if they dropped off my radar because I dropped off the planet (zine planet anyway) or if something happened to that world? It feels like another project is around the corner, but I wonder how that will work with the thesis writing? It doesn’t much matter. Zines happen, I don’t control that shit. Blogs haven’t replaced them, why would a thesis?