digging out ...

I'm starting to dig myself out of the debris of my apartment. And I'm not just digging out of the recent debris, but out of the debris that have built up over the many years I've lived here, and the wreckage I brought with me from all the previous places in my life. And I have to say, as ridiculous and sunshine-out-my-ass as it sounds, under each layer I peel off is a fresh layer of hopeful peace that motivates me to keep going and to see the possibilities of the future. Also, I've confirmed what I have been suspecting already recently (and am somewhat angry I forgot for a long time): despite everything, I am at heart a pretty happy girl. Even the scars I've collected have been unregrettable, unforgettable and completely life altering. Not many people see the adventure that often just falls in my lap, despite my best intentions. And not many people have the gusto to take the risks I've taken, many of which have exploded into beautiful disasters. That is the unique tapestry of a life well lived. And without this well-lived life, the art I create in writing and music could not exist, so I just have to keep collecting experiences (and do a better job of making sure they don't invade my home cocoon in a way that buries me ever again).

It's never going to be a dull moment.