It’s a strange feeling.
Coming into the New Year has made me feel rather odd regarding a number of things. Not least the fact that next year I’ll be officially halfway through my twenties. Shit.
The main thing that’s set me to thinking (dangerous, I know) is that I now have to say that all the amazing stuff I’ve done lately was last year. Which just makes it sound like such a long time ago. And while it has been several months, nearly six in fact, since all of those wonderous achievements from the summer, it still doesn’t feel like it was ‘last year’.
I guess at this point I should be grateful that my brain creates things so vividly. My dreams are always full and bright in colour and sound and touch and smell. My imagination is ridiculous to the point that I scare myself sometimes and don’t sleep at night for fear of my imagined demons. And my memories, the ones I keep, are always vivid. I don’t remember everything, no-one does. Apart from Sherlock. But if I had a mind palace, I’d just get lost and stuck and end up breaking it trying to find my way out. I digress.
I retain a lot of random memories. One of my first memories is from when I was very young. When Mum and I lived in Bartestree with our cats. I remember my dad coming to visit. I was playing, as little girls do, and I remember turning and seeing my dad walking past the window to the front door. That’s as far as my memory goes, but it’s imprinted in my mind. I was two, maybe two and a half, at the time.
Obviously as I’ve got older, my memory has got better and I remember more and more details about things. So all the things I did last year will never be completely out of my reach, because I can recall them with a huge amount of clarity. Whether it be the relief I felt at the end of the musical ride on the college open day because we’d done it, the overwhelming awe I had on my birthday when I realised I was staring into the eyes of a Sumatran Tiger separated from me by only six inches of glass, the absolute terror that hit me when I realised I was driving across a country I’d never been to before to go to a place I’d only read about to live with people I’d only e-mailed, the surprise and (to my own surprise) delight I felt when one of those people told me he liked me, the buzz I got from vaulting, the depth of confused pain I had when we left, the joy of creating a bond with a new horse, the determination to go back to Eclipse for half term, the relief of hearing my grandpa was finally recovering or the warmth and complete happiness I felt at Christmas. All of those, and many many many more will stick in my head for a long time to come.
Unfortunately the start of this year has been slightly more shocking and upsetting than expected. And I have no doubt that my memory will retain those feelings too. It has put things into perspective though, and reminds me of the importance of making sure I live up to my resolutions this year. At the moment I’m making my days count by sending every bit of love and strength I have to the people I know who need it right now. And by doing things that make me feel happy. Normally that would be, ponies, horses and ponies. But I can’t do that just yet, so I’m turning to other things I enjoy.
I started writing again yesterday. It wasn’t a long thing, just a couple of pages. To be honest, it’s not even particularly creative or linguistically intelligent. I just wrote. It’s truth, and memory and retrospect. It felt good to use words again, to pour them out onto a page and rearrange them into something resembling sentences.
I’ve just realised that sounds particularly strange given that I write my blog fairly regularly. This is different though. This is stuff I wouldn’t put in a blog. It’s too personal. The way I write my blog is different as well. When I write here, it tends to be the words just falling off my fingertips. Occasionally I temper it, go back and delete a whole load of stuff because it’s too rambling or messy. But I’ve always written from the heart mostly, so my blog ends up reflecting how I’m feeling. The writing I did yesterday came from my heart, but the language I used came from my head. It was more tempered, more deliberate than anything I write here.
I used to write like that a lot. Sometimes stories of fantasy or reality or both, sometimes poems (usually over emotional and irritating) and sometimes just a sentence here or there. Composed, calculated and probably extremely pretentious. What, I was a teenager?! Show me one that isn’t melo-dramatic and emotional. I was just the same as everyone else when it came to that. Except I had the added factor of thinking I wasn’t. It’s painful to look back sometimes. I cringe.
It was a long time ago that I started this blog (last year). It’ll have a birthday soon. How excellent.
Right, away with you. Stop reading this nonsense and go make something of your day. Me? I’m going to have a cup of tea, maybe something to eat. I could play some Lego Marvel Superheroes on the xbox…or something on my DS. Maybe I’ll do some work on an assignment (naaah) or I might bake or cuddle my dogs or read or write or draw.
Whatever I do, you can bet it’ll be worth it.
And all the while I’ll be sending my love to Keli.
Get well little one.