definitions

I miss having the luxury to be careless. But there is no possibility of being careless anymore. I have bitten the hand that fed me. So I trawl through Craigslist a lot, searching for little windows, little doors. I send my car for servicing. I write cover letters and send out resumes. I tumble out of bed everyday into some ambivalent notion of adulthood that I have chosen. I am not lonely. I have a car, the eternal presence of my parents. My boyfriend is going to be a psychiatrist. I never believed I would date a shrink-to-be. We argue about who should pay the gas, snap at each other when we are tired, we also make each other happy. I love him, but I am not in love. We have spoken about the future, our commitment to the future. My friends must think this is completely uncharacteristic of me. I have never remained committed to anything. Except maybe, some vague and childish hope, that one day I will write words that people will feel for. This childish dream compelled me to inhabit multiple lives and live deeply. I still cling on to that. But I think the last boat that brings me to the pool of darkness where I see the frightening image of the truth of who I am, has left. I will never get to see that. I can't live as deeply and savagely, for life calls. Perhaps it is liberating that life is not made out of polarities anymore. But sometimes I miss the days that were so sharply defined that they hurt.