Shaking

Reviewing my previous posts there have been highs and lows. But a constant runs through them all. I talk about the weather way too much. Sure, I could argue that weather can play a huge role on how one views their day or even remembers it. But in the same way that the mind can play tricks on the body so too can the weather on the soul.
This blog's original purpose was to be a means for me to look within myself, thus the title borrowed from Stevie Wonder- Innervisions. And yet, I feel I have strayed from that. At times I may write things with an intended audience of whom I am not able to speak with or must reflect deeper in order to formulate the message I wish to convey. Other times it has served the very important role of allowing me to clear my mind of troubles collected through the days. Some of commented that humor is often missing. I am starting to think my humor is only applicable in social situations and is not a skill readily turned on and off. Even worse is the fact that at times when I have thought it wasn't in use it made its way to the main stage and things got ugly. But that is that.
I've been reading a lot of Shakespeare as of late. And by a lot I mean that I'll read a sonnet or part of a play (usually a page) whenever I have a moment. I am continually struck at the enduring qualities of his work. True, Shakespeare may not be one man but many individuals. I don't trouble my mind with those burdens but rather read whomever's words have been come to be known as Shakespeare's. There is a lot of truth there. Often hidden or hard to discern and yet I find myself toiling to try and figure out exactly what each line is saying. Sometimes I get it and other times I am more confused than poor Othello. Such is life.
I am very curious about what this new adventure I've set out on holds in store for me. Things were at a standstill for months and then, like the phoenix, what I thought were ashes of dreams deferred came something completely new. Time moved slow and then in a blink of an eye and the change of a year time decided to speed itself up simply because it can. And so here we are asking ourselves new questions- who? what? when? where? why? I feel like time should slow itself down once more so that I might at least take time to enjoy the journey. I am unconcerned with the destination. I just hope the road ahead is smooth and while this is clearly naive a small part of me already hopes the road is endless. I don't want there to be a destination but rather a new junction to explore. Why can't that be reality? It wouldn't be that out of the ordinary.
I think Othello is speaking for me, "Speak of me as I am; nothing farfetched,
And don’t write anything in malice. Then you must speak
Of one that loved not wisely, but too well;"

I think you'll make me wise.