March 1st

It's cloudy and hazy and as I look through the kitchen window I get invaded by thoughts and questions I don't want to ask myself, not now, maybe not ever. The yellow bricks look pale and dingy, the dirty sand of the playground, lonely, quite. The swings are still and abandoned as though not even the wind would want to go swing on them. 

I woke up early. The inability to sleep daytime is getting more and more disturbing. The lack of sleep sets my thoughts in an "poetic" mood. I was almost certain I had grown away from it, from the phase when I looked at the world as though I would be reading Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" or my thoughts were messily and masterly organized like the Ulysses.  But it was no phase I'm afraid, I am this crazy after all.

We all have hard times, trials, probation. For a long long time I had been unable to laugh so hard I get out of breath, for a long time I've had this sorrow deep inside my eyes, behind my every smile. It took a lot of work and determination to get trough it and stop allowing this moments and daily hard words to define me. It took a lot of effort to decide that it is not what happens to me what shapes who I am, but how I react to it. It is not what others say of me what describes me, but I describe myself by the feelings in my heart and the way I come out to the world. And yet it is so true that if you hear something often enough you may end up believing it. If we are called "stupid" long enough, all our efforts might be put into disproving it. 

I try so hard to take things practically, find the solution and get to work, lift up my head and leave the sentimentalism aside. But it strikes me and some decisions can't be made that way. When you have to decide how your very life, heart and soul are going to be better, feel better, get less damaged, grow healthier, smile brighter, become all they can; well, those times being practical gets way too hard for me. Parents can't protect their children from it all, we just can't keep them in a bubble of happiness and I don't think that would be fair to them. But now I feel that whatever I choose is bad and I don't want to think about it.

My mom used to say that I was a beautiful person. She saw in me something I will never understand. I don't think I am as good as she saw me. I hurt so many people, things I say, things I do, things I don't say or do. Sometimes it feels as though my very existence hurts others, I wonder if we all feel like that sometimes. 

I miss my mom so much today, I wish I could tell her what I'm up to, tell her that Emily can read, that she loves reading in Spanish. Telling her that Olivia is about to loose her second tooth. That Emily is starting to use her fingers when playing the violin. That Olivia is starting to read and wants me to give her homework. I would like to tell her that the rent went up and I might have to move, and I don't want to and the very though of it makes me nauseous. Tell her that I might be out of strengths and cry with her, because I have been feeling this ball in my throat and tears just don't come out. I would like to rest my head on her shoulders and hear her say "there is a solution to everything. The only thing we cannot do anything about is death." 

I am not even close to being the way my mom saw me, it just would feel so nice to hear it from her today, even when I know she was exaggerating out of love. 

I think I'll finish the cleaning.