Met an old friend today. We talked for the longest time. She pointed out some very salient facts to me… the truth is, I have not lost the girl I was looking to be. Lost sight of her, I mean. I am not saying I am her, because there are things to do before I can be that. But she is in my head, a clear idea of where my life will go should I get to direct it. And however many cul de sacs blind me and digressions distract me, at the end of the day the truth is that I pick myself up, brush the clinging dust away and walk on.
I suppose that is why I cannot give myself. I am too much my own person. I talk about myself all the time, but I don’t think that is because I am selfish exactly. It’s more as though I’m continuously trying to unravel the threads in the mixed-upness that’s me and talking about it as I go is communication aimed as much towards myself as to any person I might be addressing my thoughts out aloud to.
Isn’t it strange? In earlier times I would have taken a succession of lovers and tried to content myself with sex. Married as a child and have children of my own to distract me from my strange thoughts. Being a girl in these enlightened times and of my liberal background means I do neither, of course. I read and attempt to educate myself and take lovers and keep seeking because I have always been assured that there is an answer. To be sure, the search is no little fun.