I have a head full of thoughts and a heart full of feelings.
I want to write about so many things. I was just at a movie about a boy who had teenage mental health problems and who craved the company of the semi-cool indie kids. I cried. I went to see it with two of my Boys, so that made me cry even more, although I obviously can’t admit that.
It made me want to stay up all night and write about my teenage years. It made me want to write about my own mental health history. It made me want to write about my teenage brushes with the world of indie kids and drugs and weird sex that I was never actually a part of, but spent a lot of time circling around.
It made me want to write about friendship. I have a lot I want to say about friendship. This was a week where I seemed to have more friends (old and new) than I can remember having for a long time. I want to write about types of friendships, about friendships that last and friendships that don’t.
I want to write about my lovely new shoes. They’re red and fabulous and I think of them as my ruby slippers. If I click my heels three times, I won’t get as far as Kansas, or even Ballincollig, but they do make me very happy.
I want to write about what’s really going on with my PhD, about why I froze so badly and how I hope to get out of this rut.
I want to write about my teaching job, and why I’m temporarily quitting even though I’m broke and I love it.
I want to write about my exercise fears, about how I’ve left another weekend go by without going back on my diet, about my obsession with my own size.
I want to write about my vague plans for adventures in drag, and for getting published, and for going on the stage.
I want to write about why I bought a five-foot cloak.
I want to write about so much. I’m bursting.
And I might well stay up all night writing. But more than likely, I’ll go to sleep, think better of it all and write a more “normal” post tomorrow or Tuesday.