december 18

I am not sure how to start. it has been ten days since I have last opened this editor. seven since I last had a laptop. of course, I will whine about it. of course, I will. a four month old back up seems entirely useless now, when I think of everything that is lost. images taken at the anniversary party, the little one’s first birthday; forty thousand different words that were supposed to belong to my novel, three months’ worth of daily letters to him. september, october, november. all gone. and a bunch of unrelated daily writings. it seems as if everything is preparing for the new year. a fresh start. it feels as if nothing good has happened in the last two weeks. only good moments are those with the boy. he makes everything okay.

I’ve hit rock bottom. in so many ways. I wish I could just strip from my skin and wear another one. I wish I just could just cease to exist. not die. just disappear and exist in a different form. the boy has moved out into his own place. he’s holding out a second set of keys for me. waiting. I feel cornered into an impossible situation without actually having done too much.

it’s Christmas now. but it doesn’t really feel like it. I keep thinking about how excited I used to be when I was younger. I want to bring it back even though it’s almost impossible to pinpoint that exact moment when it all changed. we are going through ups and downs all the time; I’m not sure why we are still holding onto each other. except for the fact that to do anything else would not make sense. I’m writing this on the go just for the sake of having written something and I hate it. it will have to do until I have a chance to sit down properly.

happy holidays.

seven nine zero

three images from october. it was a much sunnier month than the last two. I am missing the warm glow of sunbeam; the way it fills the streets of hong kong with color and brightness.

the year is coming to its end.

I started thinking whether I should write a bilantaine (is that even a word? it seems to me it is just a remainder of the old days. ailyn? juneau?) or not. when I think about the last twelve months; I don’t want to write anything. there have been more bad days than good days and twenty-thirteen needs to be better.

it has to be.

instead of writing about these past twelve months, I am focusing on those that are yet to come. I am grateful that susannah has made the time and created another one of her workbooks. it’s just a small thing, really. but somehow it feels relevant to sit down with it and actually create a focus for 2013. I doubt that I will share mine, but it is good to have it.

so thank you for that.

yesterday was a terrible day. I felt like a dog that knows it’s about to die. the way they hide in the woods, so nobody can see them. I am watching lie to me again and I am beginning to see it everywhere. it’s too much. I still write daily miniature letters to him; three months worth of self-doubt and anxiety unbalanced with being completely crazy. sometimes I feel like a traitor because I never showed him any of it.

but it’s better like that.