Spent the night tossing and turning after staying up to read about 150 pages of Milan Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." The only thing unbearable right now is that book. How to describe it, let's see. Painful sentimentality is the first phrase that comes to mind. It literally hurts to read it, but it's addictive somehow. The characters draw you in and the stories immerse the reader, but for me, it just reminds me how much I miss Europe. It reminds me what that time in my life symbolized for me...discovery, adventure, the hope of the unknown. For weeks now I've been fighting this inkling that maybe I'm at a crossroads, and I could be headed for stagnation if I don't wake up soon. I don't know. Have I numbed myself so direly after that traumatic breakup over two years ago? I refuse to believe it is all caused by a boy issue. But I can't pretend I'm a solid rock. I spent the last two years avoiding my Xanga. A few months ago I attempted to log in again and found that I'd forgotten the password. Maybe it is better that way, because those private entries are entryways to such a weak, ignorant side of me... one that thought there could be no room for love after heartache; one that thought I could pivot my happiness on a disappointment of a relationship I once hung perfection upon, like a top hat- just an accessory all the same. So I got onto the Xanga page on the public side, a few minutes ago, surrendered to this unwillingness to fade into sleep. Tears were already rolling down my eyes when I lay in bed, I realized how awful it is of me not to have called Isabelle in over a year. I keep thinking how old she is, and I hope-somewhat morbidly-that she's still alive. If she's not, I can't imagine the guilt. I need to call her tomorrow and know that she's okay, know that I haven't abandoned her. I wanted to find out her number and I knew it was in my Xanga somewhere. I first wondered what took me so long to pick out the information, as I knew for a long time it was there, and I didn't even need to log in. I guess I was fearful of everything else I would see - a different time in my life; one that I'd forgotten how to feel about. I saw the entries from my time there, and it made me happy . . . surprisingly. I was just happy I'd gone through it, and more absorbed by that feeling than the nagging knowledge that it isn't where I am now. I think there's a redeeming quality in me here, maybe... I'm starting to accept where I am right now is where I need to be.
But that is no reason to be complacent.
... God give me strength.
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