It's late, and I cannot sleep.
Seems that is the main theme of when this poor blog gets updated anymore.
I like being up late, though. Or occasionally, very early-so long as I was able to sleep excessively before hand, and woke up entirely on my own.
The house is quiet, and from the kitchen, I can hear both the kids breathing in their sleep.
The cats curl up around my ankles, and this time of year, when I can feel cold air lingering around the windows, but the inside of the house is warm, everything is wonderfully cozy.
Speaking of this time of year, it is now 8 days until Thanksgiving. Oops, sorry, 7 days.
It doesn't feel real to me this year.
Last year, I was so in the spirit, I probably drove everyone around me insane.
I longed for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and when they were even the slightest bit near, I threw myself head long into them and refused to emerge until sometime in January.
This year, it feels as though all these things are still months off, and I have plenty of time, and instead of feeling sad about that, I feel relieved. Actually when I realize how close it all really is, that is when I feel sadder.
No. That's not right. Not sad.
Indifferent, I suppose.
This year has been amazing and it has been hard.
It has been full of change, and pain, and growth, and surprise, and love, and magic, and disappointment, and adventure.
Still, it feels unfinished.
It feels like for there to be less than two months left of it must be impossible.
In all the flurry of everything this year was-for better or worse-the time itself flew right by.
I learn more and more that time is not something we live inside of, something sturdy, something reliable that we can measure and count on.
It is something every shifting, ever changing. Speeding up when you are happy and sated. Slowing unbearably down when you are struggling. Flying and blurring all together when you're not paying any attention at all.
Time is something we set on the table for a moment while we look some place else, get distracted, get busy, occupy ourselves, and when we look back it is never where we left it.
It has jumped so far forward, and moved everything around in such immeasurable ways, that we can't help but feel a cold sense of loss...for what, we aren't entirely sure. Whatever we could have done with that time, had we known in advance of it's volatile nature?
The year is coming to an end, but another one is right behind it. Blocks of time constantly attached at the ends, so as to create a ribbon of our lives that can be waved, fluttered, or twisted in the wind.