Travelling

Mocca is taking his girlfriend to Fiji for Easter. He felt really bad telling me, because we didn't go overseas when we were together. We didn't go anywhere much, really. But I got sick six months after we were married, so what can you do? It was a different time and a different place, anyway ... and a totally different man! Sheesh, some people, you break up with them and they bloom. It's enough to make a girl's ego split all over the floor :)

Just kidding, Mocca. Off you go; have fun. Even though you're gonna miss Round 1 of the football which is a goddamn disgrace. The you of 10 years ago would be totally, completely and utterly horrified ;)

I am feeling wistful right now, not because I'm jealous that Mocca and his squeeze are going to Fiji. Well, okay then, maybe I am a little bit. I think it's a combination too of seeing Lucy's jaunt in Paris this last week, also. Suddenly, tonight, I am feeling a little melancholy because I think I am fighting off the cold Jenny at work was snivelling into her tissue over today, and also because I never thought that I would get to 37 and have still never stepped foot outside of the country (nor be one-day-divorced, like a big dumb loser). Not once, ever. I had the opportunity this time last year but I was barely in a fit state to put one foot in front of the other without feeling terrified, let alone leave the country to travel.

Sigh. What if I never do? What if my life is just boring forever and ever, and then I die - the end? I think it's time to go to bed and read. Or go jump out of a plane. Or somethin'.

Sometimes, life is too painful. Even though it's so good and wonderful lately, it's still painful. Light and dark. Even though life is wonderful, I still cry at least once a day.

I know what it is. I don't need to go jump out of a plane (even though fun it would be). I need to park my arse in that playroom with the clean floor, light some candles, and do some writing. I haven't been doing much creatively the last few days, no meditating. And it shows. As soon as I start looking for something to amuse me outside of my own mind and heart and creativity, I know I'm not centred. The universe is contained in a pen, in a candle flame, and in my heart, as well as a grain of sand. But sometimes I don't wanna die to myself to walk back into it, even though it's as close as my own heartbeat. Sometimes I want it home delivered, and cost me nothing.

I just noticed it's 11 past 11 again. What does it mean?