Birds are singing! I can’t believe this.
Since there is no winter any more in my country, they figured they might as well skip straight to March. If only the weather would follow suit and give us an early spring, an early May, with blossoms and things.
I almost want to go out for a walk in the forest to see if there are any signs of this false early spring other than birdsong.
When I haven’t been melancholy, I’ve been very nostalgic lately. And spent the morning deciding that I want to
get married have my wedding reception in my childhood home. I spent my happiest times there and it seems a good omen to start your new life at a spot of personal significance and happy memories. It is up for summer renting, but I couldn’t justify the price for a regular stay. So maybe for a wedding. Hopefully, there’s still strawberries so I can relive one particularly dear childhood memory, and the weather should be nice not horrible so it’d be possible to explore the wild garden at night.
Even my nightdreams are filled with nostalgia. Sports, school days, the people I knew once, checking what they are up to now. Then watching videos of life in the 1930s. Haymaking and summer camps.
Much that has happened in my twenties has been a mistake. Sometimes I feel hot flashes of shame running from heart to head when I think of the stupidity of myself. But then there are some redeeming factors, like the discovery of beauty and poetry, and that there were people like me in the world, though extremely few. It wasn’t a happy time. Happy times stopped at 18. I just tried to do the best I could given the circumstances I was in. It wasn’t very good, but I’m a lenient person on shortcomings if they result from weakness and stupidity, not malice. I was lost and immature, like a lot of young people. I had no confidence.
But I rather like to hurl abuse at life and circumstance, instead of being humble and wallowing in the misery of my bad fortune. I find it somehow satisfying to say “I’ve had a rotten life/youth”. The anger and passion I put in that statement feels good. I have very high internal locus of control, but this statement incorporates the acknowledgement that at least in this, circumstances were to blame. As in: you are dealt a rotten hand at cards, but you try your best to make something of it. That would be the best metaphor to describe my life.
Life is almost a personification to me. With a leprechaun’s temperament. Or any mythical creature from European folklore who can be both generous and very mean. I see myself as forever battling against Life. I think not yielding to misfortune in spirit is important. If Life gives me some horrible disease, I want to be able to laugh in its (Life’s) face and continue hurling abuse at it.
I’m being very weird now, I guess. I don’t suppose a lot of people have personified life. Some have a god, but it would be inappropriate to shake your fist at a god. Life, on the other hand….Oh yes.
I read one of my favourite bloggers say that he never reads his old blog posts because he would feel ashamed of some opinions and emotions. I smiled at that. I made the mistake of re-reading mine once and it culminated in me deleting some, and making half of the others private.