I cannot remember the last time I took the time to write my thoughts down before this whole “marriage thingy” blew up in my face.
I never had time to write. Or the energy. Or the quiet, solitude necessary to actually think.
Living in the city, there just isn’t time to think. It’s either do or die. If you stand around weighing your options you will get run over. And possibly be flipped off. By a person with a Jesus fish on their bumper. It’s sad, but true.
You have to move and rush and hurry and stay out of everyone’s way while you do it. If you’re lucky, you’ll have time to think at the end of the day once you’ve crawled into bed, but chances are, you’re so exhausted by that point that if you get one coherent thought strung together before you completely conk out, you’re doing pretty well.
I rarely had time to think when living in the city. So, I just didn’t. There wasn’t time. And when there was time, I wasted it by zoning out to the Lifetime movies I was lucky enough to find on Netflix. I think it got to the point that I didn’t know what to do with my thoughts anymore so I just didn’t have them. When they’d crop up, I’d push them aside and do something else. It was as though there was no point in having thoughts when I didn’t have time to process them anyway. So, I just kept moving. Doing. Striving. Trying. Rushing. Hurrying. But never, ever thinking. Certainly never long enough to put my thoughts down on paper. Ha! That just didn’t happen living in the city.
And now? I have this glorious solitude in which to think and process my very own thoughts. Without being interrupted. Without being rushed out the door. Without being talked to incessantly about inane, silly things that really don’t matter. Here, I can think and process and plan, and not worry about getting run over. Here, you run the risk of being judged for running around like an all too busy “Citiot” (Like an idiot that lives in the city? Get it? Bwahahahahahahahaha!) and not taking the time to breathe and live and think.
I think I rather like it.