This blog is just sort of a lost little thing floating in cyber space. This blog is maybe the biggest testament to my weaknesses and my dramatic flair, but a great testament to my writing, which is not to brag but to say I miss writing. (Upon further reflection, this is the blog of Savannah growing up)
Things are changing. They would be regardless of is I was there or not, and they aren't bad changes, just changes, and I'm getting so used to changes that it's almost doesn't hurt at all. Today, while half asleep, I dreamt of what it will be like to be on state street, in a sea of white people wearing hip clothes, none of them with plaited hair. And I felt a soft panic rise up. Because even though I love that and want to go back to that, it scares me a little bit. And that it scares me scares me even more. And I am already bracing myself to surround myself with people who are ready to listen and to understand, and contemplating shedding people who will just make this hard. And I am scared to say that all the things I wrote about change, all the months of pre-departure panic are becoming realized, and I think that is why I was panicking, because I KNEW it would do this to me, because I had to mourn the loss before I left because I simply will not have the emotional energy to mourn it when I get back. I am hoping people will surprise me. But trying to only keep hopes in some place farther back in my mind, as to avoid waiting. I feel like I could go to Portland, and more than that, I feel like I will. And not to fulfill some sort of destiny, not to finally stick to my guns like I did with this trip.
Maybe this is all just what i need to get a heart strong enough to let go of things. And that, is scary, defying stubborn promises I made to myself simply to justify my wallowing. And I knew that is what they were when I made them. And you know, maybe this should be a letter, but I got sick of writing letters, just a little, because I felt like sometimes I was doing it for the wrong reasons, like to force a closeness with someone when really I should let things happen more naturally. I am always trying to manipulate situations, to keep them within my grasp, but then they are always a little bit false, and a little bit disappointing. I am tired of putting up with disappointment. And though it is not quite true yet, it is on the tip of my heart, I am tired of blaming other people for my sadness and disappointments. Even if they do play some sort of role (see, not quite ready for this one). Blaming other people gives me a way to still feel close to them, and I am not ready to let people go.