tabula rasa

the question arises: can one ever attain the state of being truly clear?

with each proverbial slap in the face that i've experienced for the past seven months, i try to convince myself that i've been given a clean slate, a fresh start, the opportunity to create a new perspective and a new life for myself...

...but it's hard to fool myself when everything seems like i've taken a huge step back to adolescence. searching for work, questioning every choice i've made, living with the parents for the first time in years while i take on small jobs to make ends meet and pay off my steadily increasing student loan bills.

that whole "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" is hippieshit. i've nothing to grasp onto and i'm damn ready for a big change. a vertiable tsunami would be welcome at this point, i tell you (and here i thought i'd gotten over the ubiquitous quarter-life crisis).

would i really WANT to be wiped clean, "eternal sunshine" style, of the past year, of every (both blessed and damned) trial that came my unassuming way?

to be clear of every thought of him that shocks me into remembering that he'll never be a part of my life again, when so many pieces of our life remain, badly-concealed artifacts of (cue violins) the way things were... his faded t-shirts still carefully folded by my able hands in the drawers of the cupboard in my once-sanctuary of a room, left behind when we moved to amsterdam. birthday cards tucked between pages of books that once crowded our shelves. the journal i created for our first christmas that chronicled the story of how we met. the album of photos from our trip to venice that he compiled on my 26th birthday, locked in our bedroom while i cleaned our flat and cursed him between numerous cloves and sapphire tonics. the white duvet cover with loopy red hearts that didn't seem sappy when we bought it. the alarm clock that played "the white album" the morning after our first night together while we laid in bed and i sang to him.

not that the break-up was all that felled me, but there are too many pieces of him left unclaimed in my ever-growing lost and found.

i wouldn't, and can't, clear my mind or my space of these remnants. wouldn't want to.

didn't think this would turn into a whiney post break-up rant. i certainly didn't intend for it to be.

perhaps i can be more eloquent when it's not almost three in the morning. i was about to quote a line from 'the vagabond' by colette, which has something to do with it being a perfect time for a woman of ill-refute to retire, but it escapes me. perhaps tomorrow.