A Pillow of Contentment

This place where I write. This place where I think. Is a place where my thoughts run freely. A place where they mingle. Where they congeal. And harden only to be picked over and reopened. In real time. My life in its sticky, chipped state. This is a place where I feel safe. My cave. A sanctuary.

This is a place where I first began to write my whimsical thoughts. Trite and funny anecdotes. I wanted to find a place to try to write. To write me. Find me. Write down in words this deep down voice. My feelings.

As an errant list maker. I often write things down. As is my want. List fashion. On post it's. A Swot analysis of my life stages. So far. What I feel now. Isn't what I felt then. This place helps get me through. To accept how I feel as I do. Now. Certainly stronger. More measured. I take time to think things through. Before I say them out loud. Most often.

I have always been in awe of how others write. Are able to write. Effortlessly. In the shadow of writings and art of my Mum. In this place there are Big footsteps to follow. Women in windows. Women in suburbia. Women of much importance. To place my feet upon theirs in the sand. To walk. Writing stories. Recreate my own. In words.

Caught in the gravity of life

Tendrils wrap around my ankles and hold me back.

A space of timeless insecurities,

Cling to the sharp edges of hope.

Bite into my fingers

the pain casts a light on a memory in the black

and l follow mournfully.

Upon the cake crumbs of tomorrow

my spine unfurls with each new breath.

My residency here began on 8th July 2008

I wasn't having a great year. Emotionally and personally. I was feeling crushed by the impending fifth decade. The walls were definitely getting nearer to each other. To say I was hemmed in would be an understatement. I knew that then. I know that now. Though if I do feel it now. I don't need to say so to the same degree. In my book that's progress. It is cathartic to write it down. I believe. It isn't all inside. Sitting still. Rotting. Causing damage. Once out there. It is being processed. Being dealt with.

Today is FFF's blog birthday. I haven't marked my other older blogs in the same way. I guess that's because they have a completely different function. They are not a personal journey in the same way. They are another slice of my life. This part of my life. Has become a life blood. Ritual.

Thank you for sharing your stories with me. Your light shining your inspiration. Upon me. For your wisdom. I thank you all. For your courage. Your talents. Your support. Your time. Your diverse interests and viewpoints. Your friendship. your words. Your inspiring stories.

We all have are our stories. We are our stories. Stories. Life.

First FFF post here