Reading harold_maude's journal

It's monday, by the clock. And the house is still, except for me.
It's not a bad thing, to be awake when everyone else is asleep.
I've spent alot of time thinking this weekend about so much.
Thinking about days that turn from summer into winter before you know it.
The color of morning as it grows from dark to light, and how much, if anything at all, that means right now.

Right now. This moment. Being etched into history even as I write.
I've been thinking about the road ahead, how ever long that will be, and there have been moments in the mist of all the wonderful that this weekend has been that I find myself face to face with what's out there ahead of me.

I was thinking about winter, and wondering if it's going to be as crazy weather wise as the last few weeks have been.
There's a part of me that wants to take a huge leap into the abyss of the unknown, and part of me that feels the same way it feels when the air is so cold that it hurts to breathe.

This is a very weird time. A shift in things. I know it's not connected to how old I am cronologically, because that has never mattered to me.
That's only the movment on calanders.
That's all.

Maybe it's the uncomfortable feeling of the guilt of having to ask for help, when all I want to do is take care of things myself.
If I do, I know I will get done what needs to.
I've struggled with this thing for a long time. Falling short, needing help, and having to finally ask for it.

Maybe it's the need to see people just do when they see things that need to be done.
Being a part of something that flows with ease, instead of waiting and waiting and then getting tired of waiting and doing it myself.

Maybe that's all this is.

The question that keeps comming up is this: If I wasn't so able to make things run smoothly for everyone around me in ways that makes their lives easier, would there be any reason anyone would need to be around me.
Or want to?

If I look at the past of my life, I would have to say no.
The requests, the wants and the needs.
I've taken care of the things about me that I need.
I've waited for people to notice and step up and just do, but it doesn't happen.

Maybe that's why all of this has been feeling so strange.
Maybe not.

Maybe it's what happens when you pass through this right of passage.
The disjointed feeling that comes with being joyous over reaching this age.

Again I don't know. There have been so many times I've wished that some brilliant sage would just show up and they would be able to walk with me through some or all of this, so that I could just accept this with mountians of grace.

There are so many times I feel completely alone. Even when I'm in the mist of company, no matter how many people are in that company.

I feel like I'm climbing up a never ending ladder. Up and up and up...having lost sight of the ground a very long time ago.
It's a weird kind of discomfort. unlike anything I've ever felt before.
In someways it's a kind of relief when I come here and find no evidence that anyone has read the things I've written about.
It gives me the sense that it's ok to dance in the dark and fog covered corners of my thoughts.

It's like a sounding board where I can see what I'm thinking as I write and hopefully find some answers.

..to bravely go where I've never gone before.

I write for my own sake, to keep my thoughts from making my brain explode.
It's part of my approach to my own health.

..in the desert does where you've left footprints matter?
or even the ones you've left in the snow?

It only looks that way because your standing on your head.

This post was edited by harold_maude on Oct 10, 2005.