That's exactly what I'm listening to right now. My mouth is still sticky with peanut butter, and the crumbs of rice cakes are spread through my bed. My hands are cold right up to the wrist, and I can feel a draft seeping in to the room and over my shoulder. I wish there was heating here...anywhere here in this whole town. The air smells of woodsmoke from the pot of lapsang on my bedside table, and I can almost believe that there's a fire in another room nearby.
I opened up this page about an hour ago, feeling that I'd write something big. Some sort of overview or evaluation of the state of things. But I've just wasted today by pottering online, and everything feels so very small now. And anyway, the big things in my life are just a bit too big to look at without the bottom of my stomach falling away in fear at the immensity of it all.
Mostly though, I'm just feeling ok. I've spent some time on various blog posts about body image related things, and I realise that I probably feel better about myself than I've ever managed to in the past. That's nice....not in an earth-shattering way. It's just crept upon me as a nice thing that exists in my mind.
I also think I feel more secure about most things. My friends at work are 22 and 23, and every time I talk with them, I know for sure that I'd rather be 29 than go back to all of that uncertainty, and that sense of barely being able to grasp at a sense of your own wants and needs.
I'm reading the Beautiful Girl's blog, and wishing there was more. Wishing I could spend a day burried inside her thoughts and ideas. But that understatement is so her that I still feel strongly connected even by those few scraps of sentences.
One admission: this week, I have become afraid of writing again. I am back in the place where I prefer to dream of my untapped potential than sit for hours on end and look at the rubbish that comes out of my pen. I am using any excuse to avoid putting that pen to paper.