Thursdays

Am I the only one who feels like Thursdays are a natural affront to humanity?

They're just hard.  They're grey and blah and tend to remind me of all the things I want that I don't have, instead of reminding me to be thankful for everything I do have.

"But failure is not an option, littlest one."

Today, on my lunchbreak, I sit at my sturdy yet stylish wooden desk, drinking an Evolution carrot-orange-mango juice I purchased from Starbucks this morning even though it's making my stomach hurt.

I'm also struggling with the realization that indulging in Starbucks every morning on my way to work without a partner discount is far too expensive a habit to grow comfortable with.  I'm also acknowledging the grave fact that it has already become a habit I've grown too comfortable with, and I accept my comfort all-too-easily.

This is bad.

But my triple grande soy real caramel sauce lattes are good. And I am conflicted.

Therein lies the crux of the human race.

I've been biting my fingernails a lot, lately.  This is usually a sign that my anxiety is bubbling underneath the surface again.  Although, this time, I'm not sure it's anxiety- I have a distinct feeling it might be restlessness.

The seasons are changing again, lovers- the sun is re-emerging and the cherry trees are beginning to bloom.  Everytime I see a cherry tree I think of the line in a Pablo Neruda poem that reads "I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees."

I am arrested, body and soul, by that line.

I am arrested, body and soul, then, by the sight of cherry blossoms blooming on these Portland city streets.

These arrests often cause the deepest sense of wanderlust within me.  It is often the simplest sights, the most non-profound phrase, the most ordinary beauty which sends me reeling into the desire to uproot, to leave, to be caught in the gentle breezes of the Spring and to return only when I have changed forever.

My mind keeps straying distractedly to that plane ticket I've promised myself to buy by the end of 2013.  Where will I go?  What shall I see?  Whom shall I meet?

The game of indecision and the thrill of the unknown cause my feet to tap repeatedly against the leg of my desk.  Anxiety?  Anticipation?

I feel a movement underneath my feet, lovers.  I don't know from where it has come- or to where it will take me.  Things are shifting.  The earth is rotating so overwhelmingly fast.  It's all a spectacle.

We are a spectacle!

I remember faces.  Faces from my favorite memories- faces I can't help but feel that I will see again soon.  Therefore my bottom lip is chewed over frantically by my shining teeth. Excitement?  Wanderlust?

Discernment?  Prophecy?  Faith?

Foreshadowing?

Spectacles.  Life is a spectacle. 

Spectacles like the ones which some of us vision-impaired wear on our faces.

Are they not a filter through which to see the world? A clear invisible lens which causes the blurry to become focused- the unknown to become familiar.

Spectacles. I am a spectacle- you are a spectacle- the cherry blossoms are tiny pink spectacles.

Like the rose-tinted glasses through which dirty poetic beatniks view life- la vie en rose is a spectacle, too.

 See, this is why I like you, lovers.

Cherish the people you can truly think out loud in front of.

I cherish you. I do. 

And even though it's a thoroughly-un-therapeutic-Thursday, it's still a spectacle.  And the universe will still find ways to inspire me.

The filtering Springtime sunlight will illuminate the city sidewalks with a  fleeting sort of caress, and the thrill of unforeseen adventures will guide me home.

"You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."
-Elisabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love.

So take that, Thursday.  I have not had my spectacular way with you, yet.

Xx,

Hannah