This first blank posting box reminds me of the blank pages that came before, then got filled with mediocre (at best) early poetry - always sad, heartbroken, the way to cultivate and nurture melancholy yet at the time I thought I would get it out, put it on paper, thus freeing me to move on to something else. At other times, blank pages got filled with medoicre (a stretch, here) drawings and paintings, and there was even the phase of a painted journal.
Of course, freedom comes from many other places, none of which include bad poetry or poor art. But I am forever grateful to the mind I have, which didn't allow me to fit in so well in the land of childhood, where thinking girls don't get boys, but do manage to sustain an awkward, outsider's perch far above and beyond what they long for, which is simply to belong.
Hello to those of you out there who stumble upon a blog from a Thinking Girl. I now live in a land and time where I, a cerebral girl in this ever-expanding cellulite world, finally fit in. I've mastered the art of my overly-sensitive emotional soul and my quirky linguistic and analytic mind. I've loved and am loved by people who are themselves Thinking People who also love to use their bodies and their hearts and their souls. I didn't think I'd ever live in this land or in this time. Apparently, my initial thoughts on the matter were wrong.
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