Slow hand quickens…

Welcome Sunday.

Tomorrow creeps up quickly. Tomorrow is a day that I can’t stop, because of the cyclical nature of our calendar and the days are never-ending. Tomorrow is my birthday. I don’t harbour ill will toward it, but as the years start to tread faster, I realize that my youth is bound to be fleeting. Another year has gone by and I ponder on what I have accomplished in those plentitude of years. Much I guess, but not fully enough. Yes, I pound myself constantly of what I have done and need to do. It’s motivation that sticks itself into my craw though and refuses to budge at times. Fire under my ass – please.

I am really surprised I have stuck with my objective of writing on Sundays. (Although I did write earlier in the week.) Last night I wondered on what to write about or if I had anything profound to say – what witticisms would I spill from my lips that may or may not hit home?

The past week I have had the pleasure to catch up with others that I used to write with via Facebook. Four former bloggers from my MS days started a group (which I thought would fall flat) and succeeded in pulling us all back into the mainframe of our minds again. As I read through the countless comments and remembered those days of words – these people were a kind of inspiration. We fed off each other like bloggers here do in this medium. We fed off our words, our triumphs and sorrows.

Why talk about this? I’ve yet to meet anyone (besides my partner) who was in that line of writing here in Second Life. But as I read and thought back, I also thought of the “issues” I was going on with at the time. When I found “blogging” during that time I had just gotten out of a turbulent five year relationship with a person that was so unemotionally attached that he did leave permanent scars on my handling of relationships. I found that it was easier to just ignore things that to go straight forward into someones face – demand why or what. Instead, it was better to left things go unsaid and find other ways of dealing with our daily lives. So I wrote. I found that writing out what I felt about the situation was a lot easier – yet writing in a public forum does come with its issues.

You’re completely exposed.
People misjudge, misconstrue, mislabel who you are.
They either get it – or they don’t.

But then I realized – I don’t have anything to hide. I don’t. I can be read like an open book and taken for what it is. People – no matter what – will continue to decide exactly the type of person you are no matter what you do, until the day they actually speak to you one on one. I am an intricate part of the puzzle called life. Whether I am a flower among many in a field or a stone that tumbles along the stream, I am making a mark on every person I touch and encounter. They are as well. Good or bad, each person has left something. I still continue to have those scars from before, but they have faded due to time and change. Will I ever move fully from them? Sure I will – I have to a certain point. Time will tell.

“Your bones are brittle / Inside you / Wrapped so soft your blood 
Is running I’ll be there / If you’re moving slowly / We still get there I’ll be there 
Such a strong desire / Hunger 
All you need to hope you keep your head, yeah 
The slow hand quickens 
What you’ve done with all those  / Around you 
Hopeful always that someone / Will come and save you but I’ll be there 
To watch you sulk returning / Seething I’ll be there 
Minutes hold onto hours / Get’s you twisting 
All you need to hope you keep your head, yeah ooh
The slow hand quickens 
How’d you leave it with the love you lost? 
You made them crawl to be without you 
The slow hand quickens” – Dave Matthews Too High

Eleventh Hour: Dagny Conservatory HideAway / River Stromfield *The Garden*
Second Spaces – Clean Sweep – bucket o’ clean / Elle Kirshner
[Consignment] Boneyard Naval Fireplace – Coffee / Wavie Haller
Kuro – Watching Lights Decor / Luana Dawg *The Garden*
Kuro – Ski (decor) / Luana Dawg *The Garden*
[ keke ] Snow Jar – Deers / Kean Kelly *Season’s Story*

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