The snow disappeared this morning, which was as refreshing as the first day it fell. The pavements had become ice rinks, and the slush was getting into my shoes too easily, which discouraged me from making that extra effort to venture out. When I did, I found myself out of breath, exhaling puffs of white air while being uncomfortably aware of the way I was holding my body so as not to slip. I seemed to be struggling to keep my balance a lot this week.
I’ve been writing privately about recollections that might be dull for other people, like pages and pages about a single trip to the pub. I wanted to remember absolutely everything, because it was one of those rare hours when everything comes together, and not much existed outside our small ecosystem. A year ago I would not have been comfortable in such a bustling social situation; it reminds me of the confidence I have gained. And here were some of the first proper friends I’ve had in my life, whom I don’t talk about enough with you.
Writing with a reader in mind is a lot harder, because there are so many details about my life that I take for granted, but that need to be explained to others. I wish my words could take you with me on my walks to college and to the pub and in the snow. My eyes are blind to everything they’ve seen on a regular basis—things that would be utterly new to a stranger. I don’t always know which details are important.
But my brain still begs me for time and space to myself, and then I feel ungrateful. This balancing act between being connected and disconnecting myself, though it seems like nothing, is tiring. This thing inside my skull truly is a muscle, and it’s working out way too much. I ended the week lazy and lethargic. I hope this mood doesn’t last, and I hope that the lack of snow makes it easier to catch my balance. ♦