tired

All I want to do right now is go to bed but I feel a sense of moral outrage at falling asleep before nine, so I thought I might as well dash off a post since, characteristically, having determined to blog regularly again, I haven't.

Which isn't to say that I haven't been writing.  I have.  Pages and pages and pages of anguished journal entries, until the thoughts all tangle in an amazingly annoying snarled loop.  I'm so tired of my own thoughts.  So...bored.  After awhile, even anxiety and nervousness and fear lose their interest.

I miss New Mexico.  I really need to get back there - maybe next summer.  (This summer I'll be way too poor to afford a trip.)  I keep remembering how it felt to be there, how the landscape, spare and vast and harsh, brought me back to life.  I had felt...nothing...for over a year when I took the trip to Taos.  No connection to beauty, to other people, to myself.  I was the walking dead.  Some trauma requires a long recovery; I had forgotten what it felt like to belong in my own skin.  And there...there I remembered myself.  There, for the first time in a long, long time, I reawakened to joy.  Something about New Mexico will always feel like birth, and home.

I've been tired again, lately.  Drained.  Worried.  Self-alienated.  Nearly all of my life is in active upheaval or building up to active upheaval, and almost all of it is good, but...some of it is uncertain.  And I want rest, and peace.

So I'll go to bed at 9:30 in the meantime.  It's not desert mountains or the whisper of a green river valley or water scars in lifeless earth, but I can make the most of what I have.