Full disclosure. I haven't posted anything in a very long time because, quite frankly, I no longer identify with who I had become in this forum. The Sarah represented on this blog is unequivocally not the Sarah I am now. She (past-tense me) is cynical and self-destructive and whiny and, basically, pretty awful. She (blog-me) didn't start that way, but she soon spiraled into a hyperbolic bitch-fest all the while trying to to make herself appear to be something so that someone at some point would read into some sentiment (which they never do when you want them to). So much so that even typing "taffeta" into the hyperlink made current me get all lip-curled and anxious over this gross girl who was so willing to frivolously share so much. And, yes, I realize that speaking about oneself in a third person narrative is slightly off-putting, but this she is so not me that I can't even entertain the first. And, yet, with all that, here I go again writing in this manner? Well, not exactly.
Last night brought the first chill of fall and, like a familiar sweater freshly unpacked from storage, so too did the night resurrect residual behavior as I found myself slipping into something that has shrunken in size over the summer and can no longer keep me warm. As it were. It started from a gushy feeling. I was giddy and excited and deeply engrained in a truth I've worked so fervently to realize. Then, as quickly as a wine glass can empty when consumption overshadows cognizance, I wasn't in the driver's seat of my experience. Instead, I was relying on past maps -- that never served me well -- to yield different results. That's a fool's game, I tell ya, a fool's game. But there it was and there I was and there everything was that wasn't what I was anymore and it was all so damn ugly. But it's okay.
Acting out isn't indicative of anything beyond a misjudged moment. It's impossible to be enlightened and evolved at every second of every day. It's a struggle and we have to forgive ourselves our tribulations with the same compassion and kindness that we reserve for our loved ones. There is, after all, always a learning curve and a curve ball and (continuing with the hackneyed metaphors) an otherwise unnoticed curve in the road. I guess what I'm trying to say in all this candid gurgled jumble is that, um, nothing is indicative of everything and that this blog sorta serves as something bigger than a bunch of sentences. There are incidentals of which I'm not-so-proud and not-so-fond, but such is life and that's okay. Onward and upward, I suppose.
To be continued, I hope.