I don’t have anything extraordinarily witty to say tonight, nor do I really have any particular direction in which to write. But my goal is to try to write a thousand words per day, and though I have been on facebook and the like, I don’t really think that counts. So here I am.
Today hasn’t been the best day. At best, I feel directionless…much like this blog. Or rather, I know where I want to go, but I haven’t the foggiest idea how to get there. At worst, I feel jangled and emotional, and I want to cry. A lot. I feel guilty for being home for the past three and a half weeks with my injury. I’ve missed a lot of work, and I’m catching some flak for it. I understand why; I mean, three weeks is a lot. I also am feeling super weak and lame. In the traditional sense of the word. Lame as in debilitated. I can barely stand for an hour without severe pain. Driving is just as bad. I’ve been pretty much alone in my room for the past three weeks, which has made me lonely and helpless, and although I don’t really want to throw a pity party, I just want to feel like a human being again.
I don’t want to be a negative person. I know that negativity is far from attractive. So I think perhaps I will use this entry as a chance to force myself to try an exercise my mom has pointed me at several times in the past. So here it is — a list of the things I like about myself.
I’m compassionate. I’m able to put myself in other people’s shoes pretty easily and try to get inside their heads to try and understand where they are coming from. I’m also fairly empathic, and I tend to be very sensitive to others’ pain.
I am loyal. If I care about someone, I will stick with them. I’m also very tenacious and rarely give up on anything I’ve set my mind to. I’m patient. I’m creative — I like to make art. My kind of art just happens to be with words, and I try to do it as best as I can.
I’m a daydreamer and I have a good imagination. While it can get me into trouble on occasion, I like seeing the world through my own lens. I think if I were less shy, I would have been a good actress. I can read expressively and with emotion.
I’m good with languages, both my own and otherwise. I’ve always been able to pick up new languages easily, which is cool because I really enjoy them. On a purely superficial note, I like my eyes.
I’m only about halfway to a thousand words, and I have to apologize for the quality of this blog. I have a bad headache that came on sort of suddenly, and I am a bit out of it.
I really want to travel more. I am going to try and go back to Scotland this summer if I can find a cheapish fare. I’m hoping to fly out of Toronto so I can see Julia. I haven’t seen her for almost a year and a half, and I miss her terribly. It’s funny how you can meet someone so briefly and form such a lasting relationship — that’s been oddly true about the most important relationships in my life. I met Julia when we both lived at the Inverness Tourist Hostel, and we became best friends after only a few short weeks. That was in 2005, and nothing has changed. She is still one of the only non-blood related people I count among family.
I miss Scotland, as well. A strange peace comes over me when I’m there, ever since the first time my feet touched the rather unromantic tarmac at the Prestwick Airport an hour south of Glasgow. It’s a place I’ve returned to so many times (Scotland, not Prestwick) and just felt like I was home. I don’t think I have ever seen a parallel to the beauty that exists in Scotland. I remember driving through Stirling on Megabus and looking out the window as the sun slanted through the clouds and lit up the earth as though it had flipped a switch within. I remember the golden sheen of the mist on the hills, the Wallace Monument rising like…well, to be honest, rising like a giant, spiky phallus. Perhaps that just ruined the romance of the shot. Ha.
I remember Dollar Glen and Loch Ness and the way the ocean at John O’Groats is such a deep navy blue and contrasts with the shining white sand. The earthy scent of soil, dust, and rock that makes up the interior of the Maes Howe, the rough-hewn slats of standing stones. The smell of peat and the warm amber brown it turns the Ness River. The Sisters of Kintail and Glen Coe. The lone tree on Rannoch Moor near the cone-shaped Buachaille. I have a hundred thousand memories of Scotland, each one stored away like delicate treasures within my mind. I know I will return someday — it’s only a matter of time. I just hope it’s sooner rather than later. And I long to share it with my boyfriend.
If I can get there this summer, I know it will be a short visit, probably no more than a week or two at the most, but it will be a time of renewal as well. A time to refresh my memories, see some dear friends, and rest my weary soul.
In the film What Dreams May Come, they espouse the philosophy that we choose our own heaven, or at least that we create it from our minds. If that turns out to be at all true, I know where mine would be. It would be a land of drums, of silver-smooth lochs, of smoky scotch and the scents of the earth. There would be stone circles and sapphire seas laced with white sand beaches and forests with floors of soft moss where the rowans turn the circle of the seasons as their branches burst into bloom, the blooms turn to snowy berries that ripen into deep red before the leaves fall once more. An eternity there would be an eternity of bliss.
I don’t plan on dying any time soon, so for now, I’ll look forward to the time when I can jet my earthly body there.
Well, what do you know? Over 1,000 words.