Musings, Mutterings, and whole lotta nothing

I've come to realize as I've gotten older that it is extremely difficult to stick to something.  For example, this blog.  After three posts (two published, one given up on), I took a 4-month-long hiatus and have just come back to it.  The inspiration for my first post was politics, for my second was reflection, and for my third was guilt (I mean, I gotta keep writing!  I just started a blog for f&#k's sake!).  And, as you can see (4 months later) guilt is probably not the best motive to keep writing.

I've always been hesitant to share my writing and my thoughts to the world.  There was always an excuse - it isn't good, it isn't worth showing to the world, people will laugh, people will tease, blah blah blah.

A lot of interesting things have happened in the past few months which I could never have conceived of.  It started with an eviction, and ended in self discovery (or, more accurately, self re-discovery).

The first month in my new house was probably one of the periods I've been most socially anxious in my life.  I was moving into a house where everyone knew each other, were best friends, and were talented artists and musicians.  Not only that, I lived in a room separate from the house, an easy excuse to escape from everyone else, a safe haven where I could just disappear.  I could hide my music, my art, my personality, my being.  I just left what I thought was the most satisfying living situation I'd ever had, and I never hoped to match.  Change, change, change, was coming on too fast, too hard, and I wanted to scream and run away.  My cat adjusted better than I did (and we all know how finicky cats can be). 

I wonder now if my housemates are reading this.  Did they know?  They must have suspected at least a little, and they were so welcoming, so kind.  Was I just the crazy cat lady in the backyard dreaming of owning 30 cats (disclaimer: I do not want 30 cats worth of cat hair in any house I live in.  Only 10 ;)  )

Then I started going to my housemates' shows.  I started meeting new people.  I started having conversations with my housemates.  I came to realize that yes, I lived in a house of talented artists and musicians, and that I had talent too.  The real difference between us, really, was that these guys (and gals) spent their time honing and exploring their talent, while I spent my time wondering if I'd ever be good enough.

It started with a combined art piece I did with my housemate, Mateo, at a party in a warehouse apartment.  I was drunk, I don't know if he was too, and we were sitting in some guy's room.  He handed me a sharpie, set a notebook between us, and we started drawing.  I fed off him and he off me, an artistic vampiric experience (not as creepy as it sounds) which brought me back to my childhood, before the academic days, when I would spend hours and hours just drawing and drawing until my pens ran out of ink and my house ran out of paper.  We didn't take the drawing with us that day, but I couldn't forget it.  The cancer spread, I ached and ached to draw, to paint, to play, to create.  For a moment I'd felt at peace. 

It's impossible for me to put into words how many changes have taken place, but as the wise know not all change is bad, and change is inevitable.  My life has taken turns I could not even imagine.  My courage is shaky, but what better place to delve into art and music than a house of artists and musicians?  I've come full circle back to where I always knew I needed to be.

So I leave you all with a bit of other writing I did, now that I'm done with my (feverish) musings. 

The silence is deafening, the quiet so loud

I can see your lips moving

The words not for me

A tremble, a beat, I shudder, so shaken
Hands turning the glass
Under blue-green lights
...Your eyes scan the room
But no longer meet mine