"I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment's gone"

There are books piled everywhere.  Pages and pages of narration, of truth, of lies, of dreams and illusions.  Folds of ink that run and bleed, lamenting the loss of knowledge and the desire to know.  Lamenting the loss of empathy and desire to understand one another.  Pages on pages calling out.  They will guide you, manipulate you, creep into your mind and cover your eyes from reality.  They will open windows and blow down doors demanding to be heard.   Towers of books, carelessly tossed on the floor revealing black ink that mocks the empty white pages of my own life.

I've been wanting to write.   But i've hesitated.  The other day I read someone's words and they were so beautiful....i think i fell in love (with the words, not the person).  That statement seems really dramatic, but that's actually what I thought to myself when I read them.  Anyway, since then I've felt stupidly inadequate.  I haven't wanted to write, because my words feel awkward and clumsy.  Even now I feel like I'm typing wearing mittens.  The resulting words are not always intelligible, but they are mine and here they are.

   I've been feeling incredibly stuck lately.  I've always had this overwhelming sense of time.  You wouldn't think so if you were my prof...I'm typically late where ever I go, but on the larger scale.  I don't want to waste my time here.  At the same, I know that this time of my life is short in comparison to the rest of it.  I feel this tension, between desiring action now and slamming on the brakes and patiently wading through the inactive process of life.  I feel like one of those stretchy dolls that's arms and legs can be pulled in opposite directions insanely long.   On one side I have my goals and my dreams pulling me hard and on the other side, I have the wonderful limitation of money and capability pulling me in the opposite direction... the end result: no movement in any directions...just a confused nauseous in the middle.  Sometimes I feel almost frozen in the tension.  

I know that in the long run, the decisions I make now won't really matter.  I have that obnoxious, optimistic shoulder fairy that reminds that, "no matter what it will all turn out good."  And I do believe that...I know I can make it good.   I just get stuck in the awful, "what ifs?"  

Hm...on a different note:

  Yesterday I spent time in my mother's garden.  I love my mom's garden.  I love sitting in the grass and digging my hands into the moist soil.  I like being near the earth.  It was so therapeutic to just leisurely sit there, slowing pulling at weeds...taking my time and taking in the earthy, musty smell of the the dirt mixed with the fresh smell of lilacs.  It was nice.  I had a quiet day...I painted, nothing pretty, but sometimes (most times) i paint for the process and not the outcome.   I listened to the Jayhawks and quietly hummed, "I'd run away."  (ironically fitting)  It was calm and settling and has set the tone for the week.  I feel quiet this week.  Externally quiet, but internally my mind is speeding in dizzying circuits.