I'm Home
What to write? Where to start? Every day I am again aware that I’ve missed documenting parts of my life, especially the transition of the past few weeks, that belong on these pages for no other reason that I’m here and I’m real and this page is mine.
While I was away working in Alaska for six months my husband was at home stewing, and I really can’t blame him because his actions seem rational when examined from a distance, and to cope he waded through my journals for the second time. I believe that physics is almost always right and was especially in this case because his action had a reaction, weather or not it is opposite and equal I really can’t say, but I was catapulted to a place where I no longer felt safe writing in notebooks or the laptop. I understood nothing in the house was mine and wanted a place to set my thoughts that was out of reach from the man I’m bound to by law. At first I felt very safe with my writing squirreled away in the blog but I’m a worrier and have a naturally guilty conscience. So when I became bored with editorialized documentation and craved a shift towards writing with open honesty and truth about how I felt and thought and experienced Cuba, I became afraid that he would track down my thoughts through keystroke frequencies and internet histories: I stopped writing. After several months it felt better to write nothing than to write around the crux of the matter.
Enough time has passed that the degree that I miss writing has affected my well being. No amount of knitting or cooking or coffee with friends seems to fix it. And while my execution is amateurish at best, and my experiences less than compelling, I need to jot something down in order to feel connected with the world around me. I process my life through words written much more efficiently than words spoken.
The focus of my ramblings will probably shift away from the title and description of the blog but I don’t feel a need to change the layout because the Navy is still a large part of my life and as such colors my interpretations. In music school I was taught that every composer, no matter how innovative, is influenced by famous artists like Beethoven and Mozart because it is impossible to create music without the impression of those great symphonies and operas on the brain; they are a part of the collective subconscious. The same is true for me and the military. I’ve been a Seabee for five years and if I like it or if I don't the print is on my brain.
I’ve become very confused lately about how to digest the words my husband puts forth. His claim is that he has little desire to participate in commerce and that he would like nothing more than to shut himself in a cabin with stacks of books but he’s pretty sure I don’t want to join him. “You’re right,” is what I said and it was the truth. And despite a pre-marriage agreement to two babies he is happy to flaunt that he doesn’t understand children or wanting them. He performs when he says, “All that runs through my head is 'breeders', just that word. I don’t know why anyone would want that.”
I hear Rosalind’s whispers, “Sell while you can, you are not for all markets.” As beauty and fertility fade, so does appeal. The lines around my eyes are slight, but deepen every year, and they make me wonder who will want me if my husband decides that he doesn’t.
While I was away working in Alaska for six months my husband was at home stewing, and I really can’t blame him because his actions seem rational when examined from a distance, and to cope he waded through my journals for the second time. I believe that physics is almost always right and was especially in this case because his action had a reaction, weather or not it is opposite and equal I really can’t say, but I was catapulted to a place where I no longer felt safe writing in notebooks or the laptop. I understood nothing in the house was mine and wanted a place to set my thoughts that was out of reach from the man I’m bound to by law. At first I felt very safe with my writing squirreled away in the blog but I’m a worrier and have a naturally guilty conscience. So when I became bored with editorialized documentation and craved a shift towards writing with open honesty and truth about how I felt and thought and experienced Cuba, I became afraid that he would track down my thoughts through keystroke frequencies and internet histories: I stopped writing. After several months it felt better to write nothing than to write around the crux of the matter.
Enough time has passed that the degree that I miss writing has affected my well being. No amount of knitting or cooking or coffee with friends seems to fix it. And while my execution is amateurish at best, and my experiences less than compelling, I need to jot something down in order to feel connected with the world around me. I process my life through words written much more efficiently than words spoken.
The focus of my ramblings will probably shift away from the title and description of the blog but I don’t feel a need to change the layout because the Navy is still a large part of my life and as such colors my interpretations. In music school I was taught that every composer, no matter how innovative, is influenced by famous artists like Beethoven and Mozart because it is impossible to create music without the impression of those great symphonies and operas on the brain; they are a part of the collective subconscious. The same is true for me and the military. I’ve been a Seabee for five years and if I like it or if I don't the print is on my brain.
I’ve become very confused lately about how to digest the words my husband puts forth. His claim is that he has little desire to participate in commerce and that he would like nothing more than to shut himself in a cabin with stacks of books but he’s pretty sure I don’t want to join him. “You’re right,” is what I said and it was the truth. And despite a pre-marriage agreement to two babies he is happy to flaunt that he doesn’t understand children or wanting them. He performs when he says, “All that runs through my head is 'breeders', just that word. I don’t know why anyone would want that.”
I hear Rosalind’s whispers, “Sell while you can, you are not for all markets.” As beauty and fertility fade, so does appeal. The lines around my eyes are slight, but deepen every year, and they make me wonder who will want me if my husband decides that he doesn’t.
posted by Jessica at 11:34
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