Don't play with it

Shelli in love.
Shelli floats to her exit.

It's in the early a.m.s and although my lids are heavy... I can't fall back asleep. So hear I am, deliberating on whether I should venture forth and attempt to write the post I've been trying to write since Thursday. These past couple days have been so comparatively quiet to the weeks I've been having. The quiet moments are filled with those *gasps* "Is a higher being trying to communicate and guide me?" Everything seems symbolic to the point of seeming so integral to the intricate web of the way things should be when I reach the destination I'm destined to be.

I decided to take the bus Thursday to go home.

I walked across the Carenage... and for some bizarre reason I chose to walk up the street, by Courts and come down on the road by First Caribbean bank leading to Scotia and Bryden & Minors, rather than take my usual route through the tunnel. I was tired. I was still feeling sick. Yet I chose the path of most resistance. *Mutter grumble mutter* Still not completely clear as to why I'm going there. I bounced into one of my students, Karen, who dragged me ALL over town to show me some various paintings on which she's basing her ideas. Despite my initial reluctance to go with her because of how I was feeling, I was so pleased to see that at least one of my students was taking my advice and doing some actual research into their pieces to submit to me.

It's moments like that where I love my job. Thoroughly. If they did that more often I would cuss a lot less.

Everything happens for a reason... I had to be there so it would all make sense...

Anyways...

Shoot... I was just reading something and in turn I remembered something. It threw off my train of thought. It started my thinking about a dream I had a couple nights back... I really wish I understood everything and what it meant right now...guess I just have to have the patience to watch it unfold before me I guess...

So I make it the the Terminal. I get the last seat on the bus, which coincidently is my personal favourite, the seat right behind the conductor. As soon as I sit properly in the bus, the guy right next to me shifts a bit (not in an annoying uncomfortable way) and the smell of cigarette smoke swarms me briefly. He wasn't smoking, but it's the type of scent that lingers on your clothes and body long after you're finished... And strangely enough, it took me straight to New York.

I don't really ever recall that thought connection ever happening before. My mum's youngest brother, my favourite uncle, smokes. I remember when he used to be in the apartment in the Bronx, in the back room at nights, smoking through an open window...

Walking in, arms folded, after getting off the bus, I contemplated ditching my heels. It's moments like those I think I need an occupation where a desire to where flip flops is requisite. I didn't take it off unfortunately. There was broken glass on the road - the only thing that stopped me.

Isn't it funny how it's in the quietest moments the world seems to slow and things make sense? I can't explain the sense I felt... But it was rather calming. Looking at the weathered land I realized I was surrounded by life that survived despite of adversity... not to say that I was not privy to such knowledge before. But it never hurts to be reminded.

Everything that needed to be said was said. My decisions are becoming easier (not to be confused with easy). One by one.

It's just so annoying that it all started with one decision. I make one major decision and it's like the manager of the universe decides to heave at least 3 more major decisions my way because he figures I can handle it.

It got to the point where pretending and denying there is a decision to be made is like pretending you don't see the elephant under your carpet... especially when the darn tusks keep pricking your tender bare foot bottoms.

Come September I may not be here any longer on this pretty isle. Not permanently... but for a while. And I'm scared... believe me I'm scared. But my fears are not big enough to stop me from going... because I know I can adapt and I may have some adjustment issues but I'll get through it... I've been through enough and had to adjust enough and... let's just leave it at I'm confident that my experiences over the past 19 years have prepared me sufficiently to start to be open about being able to think I can deal with the new situations that will inevitably be presenting themselves.



***

The God of wine comes crashing through/The head lights of a car that took you farther/Than you thought you'd ever want to go/We can't get back again... As for 3 am wake up calls. The sounds of alarms for some people signal the commencement of work, others reluctance to rouse themselves to go study, and others it's a call for help. It's a save me. But as the saying goes... you can't save someone that doesn't want to save himself. You can't force them to want to survive it... to ride the wave... to drink the water from the trough... to hold on to that life buoy... and all the other clichés my tired brain can't think up at the moment.

Ok. I shall go attempt to take a quick morning nap. It's now 6.15 am. Sleep let me be.
Shelli out.

***

I feel absolutely horrid. I'm going to nap. And pray to get better tomorrow... and that nothing is really wrong...

Shelli out.