about me

Alida: A 23-year-old Canadian exploring the infinite abyss that is New York City.

navigate

home
archives
profile
notes
guestbook
links
cast
about

recent posts

Uncle Richard, me, and James Earl Jones - Tuesday, Apr. 04, 2006
So beautiful when the boy smiles - Sunday, Apr. 02, 2006
One way or another - Sunday, Dec. 25, 2005
Way up high - Saturday, Dec. 10, 2005
Reason to start over new - Friday, Dec. 09, 2005

archives

2005: January February March April May June July August September
2004: January February March April May June July August September October November December
2003: January February March April May June July August September October November December
2002: January February March April May June July August September October November December
2001: May June July August September October November December



credits

Diaryland
Valid XHTML!
Valid CSS!
imaclanni
Tues, May. 14
... When you learn to walk, I'll be there
And I am hanging on every word you say, and even if you don't want to sleep tonight that's alright, alright with me. I want nothing more than to wait outside heaven's door and listen to you breathing, that's where I want to be.

There are lessons that take a lifetime to learn. There are things that need to be mastered that you just can't quite figure out in the time it takes to live one life on this planet. Lessons I want to learn; lessons I wish I knew now, that I just don't. Things I keep learning the hard way, and even then, I don't get them. I keep relearning and relearning the same things, and learning so slowly that it almost doesn't even seem like anything's going anywhere.

But I'm learning. Little by little, one day, one step at a time. One lesson at a time, I learn something new, and then something else, and then yet again something else.

This entry isn't really going anywhere. Sometimes, I feel like I jsut reiterate the same sentences over and over, and I regurgitate the same thoughts that have been rattling around my head for years, with nothing new ever surfacing. I don't feel like I'm writing anything worth reading, because it's like my thoughts aren't even worth thinking. They're exactly what they've always been.

I know that's not quite true, but sometimes the progression seems too slow to track, and if you trace my writing over the past year, you'd see something different, you'd see changes. But it's like wathing grass grow. You only see what's happened in retrospect. You don't see the changes soon enough; only long after they've happened.

Is it failure to appreciate the journey, like a parent watching a child grow up, and not seeing the day to day miracles of growth? I'm not sure. It's only in pictures, memories, and scrapbooks that the real changes are evident.
infinite || abyss

posted at 2:10 p.m.