Once in a while I have a sleepless night. And before you start telling me it comes with the parental territory, let me qualify - it's not related to my child, my relationship, my finances, or anything else of substance. It's my imagination, running wild, ripped out of the harness I keep it in and spinning like a dervish, miles above me and completely out of my reach. You're going to laugh at what set me off. It's those damned vampire stories. Perhaps I should explain?
I've been battling against a lack of focus for sometime. I've picked up at least ten different novels in the last ten months with the intention of reading them, and I haven't been able to get beyond the first few lines. I have never had this problem before and it's been freaking me the hell out. Normally, I can happily read a book a night, will gladly go without sleep just so I can absorb those last few chapters. It was one of the warning bells for me, my inability to partake of something I adore as much as reading. The fact that my meds have given that bit of joy back to me is glorious. And I have all but consumed anything that vaguely resembles literature in my house since, making up for lost time I guess.
So, after finishing a couple of half-read novels I had lying around, I thought I'd move swiftly on to a series my little sister has been harping on about for a while now. Years even. Yes folks, I'm talking about the Twilight saga, Edward and Bella and werewolves and pale skin and red eyes - the whole schtick. It's taken me roughly a week to get up to speed on what apparently has taken teen romance to a whole other level.
I can understand why people are so taken in with these stories. How could they not be? It's first love and first kisses, it's the delicious agony of protracted foreplay that is sexual awakening, it's about good and evil and a hundred shades of grey in between. I don't care who you are, there's no way you could have passed into adulthood without at least a taste of all of those things.
It makes me nostalgic, makes me smile for the girl I was once, the dear little wretch with crappy self-esteem and not an inkling that she might be considered attractive to certain members of the opposite sex. There are memories from that era that carry profound humiliation for me, things that I've only recently been able to examine from other perspectives. There are memories that carry so much confusion, so much ecstasy, so much of everything really - moderating emotions really is a difficult concept to grasp with so little life experience.
Truthfully - as much as I envy my younger self her smooth skin and perky breasts, as much as I sometimes itch for the thrill of a first kiss, as much as I pine for dreams I left behind - I wouldn't go back to being seventeen again by choice. I like how well I know myself now.
There's more to say, so much more, but my eyes are heavy and my brain is slow. An imagination is a beautiful thing, but so very tiring to keep up with, particularly while conscious. I'm just really happy to have found my voice again, albeit a slightly deranged and over tired voice tonight. It's worth smiling about.