My Awakening

I reread The Awakening by Kate Chopin this past weekend. It was probably the fourth or fifth time I'd read it. The book spoke to my soul in a way it couldn't have possibly before. Oh, the truths that fell before my feet. Each word written as if from my own diary. The sentiments expressed had been mine all these long past 9 months (excluding the past month itself... oh, strange irony).

I don't apologize for the strangeness of my life. I've tried to describe the realities as I see them, as I experience them, but I've realized that most people have no real context. I think perhaps it is me that is being strange and when I say being strange, I mean "wrong". I have a very hard time seeing in black and white anymore, though. I have a hard time seeing cultural trends as they pertain to me. I don't say I'm outside them. I'm just saying that perhaps I live outside the predetermined lines in the sand that our society has dawn.

I get nods that mean, "ohhh, I see."

Those knowing glances.

The questioning stares.

I'm done explaining. My life is what it is. I'm done trying to figure it out myself, I get so exhausted. I don't like labels or borders or definitions much-- never have. Please don't expect me to explain my life or dreams or living situation to you in any way you will understand.

I guess that's all I can say about that.

I know it doesn't help much.

But I'm happier now than anytime I can truly remember. That's gotta count for something...