I dreamt I was at an airport and couldn’t find my boarding pass. Worse still, I was through the gate and hadn’t checked my bag, which was why I didn’t have a boarding pass. Even more, I was getting yelled at by my Mum as I searched for my ticket, and the plane was about to board … in a terminal that was all the way over there.
Good grief.
That dream far surpasses the first-day-of-school stress dream.
I think my brain hates me.
I’m trying to get back into this daily blog world. I’m not doing so well.
The issue is that my soothing mindset and calm lifestyle are blocking my creative thoughts. No way am I complaining. I’ll not trade this in for any of the last 5 years paying for carelessness which resulted in scorched decisions and frozen wishes.
Karma is a wise and unforgiving master. All that could be done was to suck it up.
Add to that, both my Mum and Dad were in and out of ICUs. So much. Too much. All that could be done was to suck it up.
I’l admit, often could be hear the sounds of nightly tears falling on the front porch of this poor wee cottage.
I’d stare up at the ceiling fan in my bedroom. Wondering if this was the way of my life. Wondering if broken was how I was all going to be. Wondering when this tasmanian version of my soul was going to give me back me. Wondering when it was that I last dusted this room.
When. When. When.
Then there was my Dad’s final moment in that hospital room. And there was my Mum walking out of the ICU, back to their house.
All the while I worked, slept, kept myself as tidy as I could. But it was an uphill walk. Both ways. So to give myself a break from myself I wrote. Every day. Sometimes for hours.
Writing become my constant companion. I thought, if this is going to be my life then I will do this blog thing as a means of respite. It didn’t fix the glitch, but writing seemed to make my life manageable. 2,000 + entries in 5 years. Whoosh.
Then. Not too long ago. June of this year to be exact. I placed a suitcase in the boot of my car. I put my hair up and my hands on the wheel. I headed South West on a road trip with my windows down and tunes up. And that’s when something odd happened.
Day One. As if by way of the lottery, the Big Freeze that had been my life began its thaw. The World got out of my way. The Universe opened a door. I couldn’t believe it.
Pardon my language, as I do try to keep the swears to a minimum here, but fuck me. Even my last two trips back home to Inishowen did NOTHING. My secret spot in Mamore Gap that always rejuviated my soul did ZILCH.
But there. On an Interstate in America. Something about that place and that space. Something about that time. My weighted shackles flew off. Who knows, perhaps it was a whole lot of Luck. Whatever. I haven’t looked back since. Not even to catch a glimpse of the dust.
The only downside to this new world order is that I now cannot write. Or maybe I don’t want to write. It’s all about association isn’t it? For years this blog has been a place for me to melt into a canvas. Well, I don’t want to melt into this canvas anymore.
So what am I saying?
I get marginally deflated when I click on a blog whose latest post was two years ago. It makes me feel duped. And I leave it unread. In Finnegan Begin Again I put a lot of effort and self into these posts. I meant what I wrote. I care about this content, deeply. I enjoy the topics.
What I need to figure out if I can change how I view this site so I can once again make this a productive piece of this refreshed life. Or do I simply say thank you very much and call it day on what once was my window to a saner world.
I wonder if I can apply the Bob Ross business model here and make my own version of blogs that are like happy little trees, living by a happy little creek, surrounded by happy little acorns for some rascal little squirrels to find on the ground.
I always liked those paintings. It’s certainly something to noodle over.
Whatcha say there Finnigan? Happy little words?
Happy Sunday