The Past

What scares me? A lot of unmentionable things that aren’t important. What do a lot of people actually fear though? The past. It’s what defines you, what you want or don’t want to return to. The past brings us to where we are now, so many people don’t appreciate it. For me though, it’s a bit different. Though many people probably feel or have felt the same.

It starts in middle school. I wanted to be out there and try new things, but how could I? I was funny cheeky and a bit overweight. Though now that I look on it; didn’t really change the way people looked at me. Plus I was quite tall so I wasn’t really what a lot of people considered “overweight.” Still, I wanted to get better, I wanted to hold hands down the hall with someone, I wanted to be with somebody that could love me. But I wanted to be the “myself” that could love me too.

I cut back. Wasn’t easy but I ate less, drank more water and I got super light. I was happy. I started work recently and though I’m still pretty skinny for my height I just don’t feel quite there yet. Not only do I want to be skinny though, I want to be fit. I want to have strong arms that hold myself up and can pull up out of any hole. Strong legs to run further and faster every time. I want to expand. To make others link arms with me and grow, to become better to flourish.

The past defines you yes, but it’s what you do with today that shapes who you are tomorrow.


Summer Storm

Summer Storm By: F. Scott Fitzgerald

Faint winds, and a song fading and leaves falling,
Faint winds, and far away a fading laughter . . .
And the rain and over the fields a voice calling . . .

One gray blown cloud scurries and lifts above,
Slides on the sun and flutters there to waft her
Sisters on. The shadow of a dove
Falls on the cote, the trees are filled with wings;
And down the valley through the crying trees
The body of the darker storm flies; brings
With its new air the breath of sunken seas
And slender tenuous thunder . . .
But I wait . . .
Wait for the mists and for the blacker rain–
Heavier winds that stir the veil of fate,
Happier winds that pile her hair;
They tear me, teach me, strew the heavy air
Upon me, winds that I know, and storm.

There was a summer every rain was rare;
There was a season every wind was warm . . .
And now you pass me in the mist . . . your hair
Rain-blown about you, damp lips curved once more
In that wild irony, that gay despair
That made you old when we have met before;
Wraith-like you drift on out before the rain,
Across the fields, blown with the stemless flowers,
With your old hopes, dead leaves and loves again–
Dim as a dream and wan with all old hours
(Whispers will creep into the growing dark . . .
Tumult will die over the trees)
Now night
Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse
Of day, glides down the dreaming hills, tear-bright,
To cover with her hair the eerie green . . .
Love for the dusk . . . Love for the glistening after;
Quiet the trees to their last tops . . . serene . . .

Faint winds, and far away a fading laughter . . .

Fitzgerald was a writer amongst other things, he was a poet and wrote many short stories. He was often writing about his life or life totally. He immersed his words with the feelings he felt and wanted you to feel them too through his sometimes; rather confusing wording.

The poem specifically brings me to fall rather than a “summer storm” and reminds me of me and my sister, playing out in a wind or rainstorm. I reflect on the poem as how things may be dark a gloomy but you need to find the fun and beauty in it even so.CastleRocks

Snowball, Classic Bunny Name

I resemble bunnies a lot; they hop and fall but get right back up. The same sick attribute I’ve carried with me my whole life. I may not have floppy ears and a wet nose but I’m down to sit in a cage with nommy food and water; left to my own devices! (Which would most likely be me sleeping all day.)5X90AS8

Problem one with if I was a bunny: I HATE carrots. Really. I could eat broccoli, maybe asparagus, salad. But NOT CARROTS. Honestly, I don’t even think bunnies like them that much either? It’s probably a conspiracy created by Easter to try and sell carrots for once. (Because really, who even likes carrots?) Ranch doesn’t help either, are they even healthy?

Moving away from carrots; soon I’ll be getting a baby bunny. When I do expect nothing but pictures. He’ll be the best bunny ever. Really, ever. Not sure what to name him, something adventurous probably. I love mountains but can a bunny be as wild and intense as a mountain?

We shall see, Snowball.