Lately I have been thinking about things that I want to do. Little tiny things that just get written out of my life because they are well…tiny. It’s the simple pleasures that go first when you are so busy, trying to get your future in place, and live in the present all at once. I haven’t stitched anything in a month or two. I haven’t scrapbooked. I still haven’t raised any houseplants. I haven’t put out a zine in years. I haven’t painted a picture, or finished a journal entry or made a quilt or written a letter, or even just a love letter (or gotten one! Remember the days of getting 5 or 6 handwritten letters a week?). My kisses are stolen in between work and school and essay writing and my life has become so fast that I live from weekend to weekend hardly remembering what goes on each day.
Where is the deliberateness of life?
In celebration of a life that should be lived deliberately, I’m going to start living deliberately. I’m not sure how to do that, but I know I want to maybe…raise a houseplant. Watch it grow and talk to it. I’d like some orchids.
I want to not have so many things in my days that I can’t remember what I did and I want to make space for people.