Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Rose coloured glasses

I was desperate to write these last few days, but was stymied by Telstra, the balrog of online communications, and was instead left to simmer in a steaming pot of words this last week or so.

It is now 24 days until Paris and I am so excited it feels as if I am living beyond my own skin. My palpable anticipation seeping out in an electric haze, my aura lit up by a million invisible photons frissoning with pent up joy and want. I do anticipation better than anyone I know; can hold onto that clear eyed excitement and wonder for months; can imagine; can dream and can taste the sounds and the smells that are coming my way. And never ever be disappointed by the end result. I am a holiday and Christmas junkie for this reason.

I am also awfully tired, in an exhausted, hollowed out shell, but that which is left of me, it is effervescent.

I bought new cheap sunglasses a little while ago, and while they are not quite rose, more gold tinted, wearing them makes all the world glow. It's almost magical, the way they transform an already exceptional day into superlatives. It makes me squeak occasionally with satisfied joy, at just how beautiful they make the world. Greens are so much more green, the sky takes on an embellished hue and at the periphery hums a sweet anticipatory gladness that just takes my breath away.

Beauty has come back into my life. After a year of trembling greyness and frayed edges, I am honestly beginning to feel like me again. I feel calmer, more peaceful. Some of the new lines that crept their way across my face are relaxing again. I can write again, and draw. I can see colours and not just monochrome. It is so wonderful that it can and has made me cry. Happy tears that the little imaginative girl who wondered at the enormity and the sheer potential of life is again hopping around excitedly in my chest and making her little girl plans. Spinning castles in the sky.

As I lie back here, on a balmy Spring night, crisp around the edges as the wind nips at my toes a giant golden moon is rising over the lights of the city. A moon full of promise and allure, that makes me want to do strange things and dilates my pupils until only the finest rim of gold remains. And in that ethereal light that bathes a city that bustles on unknowingly I feel it bubbling under my skin, the pure joy of being alive. And I've missed it so very very much.

24 days

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