DAY 363/WRITING

It's just before midnight
a mystical moment when writing is
possible and needed. It's been 363
days since I said: "every day. no matter
what. in 2013. write." And, even when
I've missed the posts, I have (except
for one day) written. Every. Day.

It is quite possible that I wrote on that day
too... a grocery list, a laundry list, a wish
list, to-do lists, not-yet-done lists, people
I want to meet and places I want to go
lists. So maybe I'm selling myself short,
given my tendencies toward lists. 

This morning, I am looking just into this
ticking clock, seconds into this 363-day
promise to myself, to Jaha, and anyone
who might happen by this blog quite
by accident. I did not have the courage
of everyday posting them for the world
to see. I preferred to be an accidental
find, a happen upon read. This day,
I look back at the moments when writing
was not just the last thing I wanted to
do, but the one thing I needed most
to do and couldn't. I look back at the
fear of flying, of failing, of lying, of
truth-telling. I look back at my broken
parts--my heart, my hopes, my promises
to lovers that I couldn't keep and the
abandonment that followed. 

I couldn't see the loneliness before this moment--
not clearly, not without the mist of
what I imagined. But here it is, sitting
just on the bed, close enough to 
touch. Writing should have been a 
better friend to me, a better companion
than it turned out to be. Instead, this
practice, this promise bruised me,
refused me some days. And words
walked in circles, repeating themselves.
But I kept writing them anyway, and
deciding that clouds of words on replay
is not such a bad thing. At least I
was writing them. And I can see them
looking back at me, thanking me
some days. You would to, if you were
a word looking for a page on which 
to land. 

Who would care that you had been read before
..... slow, fast doesn't matter to most words. And
that is what 364 days have been
without much of a thesaurus. Repeat
is almost a given if you shun the
regular plan of replacing with 
synonyms or antonyms or homonyms,
anything beside that word that 
insists on popping into your head.
But really: there's no good substitute
for "love." So, why bother?

Tomorrow, I will complete the commitment
to myself with a smug and proud satisfaction.
I will not be denied. Hell, I might even write
TWO entries for 365. Why not be bold
in the finish! Run to the line and cross it
twice, three times before I sit down
and top it off with a glass of wine. Yeah...
I like that. Three. Three... is a magic number.

© Valerie Bridgeman
December 29, 2013