guylet bobbin'

the adventures of emily and william: single motherhood, student life, and southwest virginia. sometimes i write about politics, poetry, literature and love. occasional feminism.

The best apologies happen when someone says sorry to you for you. Then sometimes they sorry to you for themselves. 

Too many kisses (as if there is such a thing)

(Source: Spotify)

(Source: Spotify)

midnight swim.

People who aren’t in love dream about falling in love. They dream about butterflies, about romance, about passion, about perfection. Sometimes when people find it they don’t trust it, and maybe even lose it because they are scared. Some people dive in head first with no fear of anything in the world. I used to be that way. 

Then you become this person who envies people who aren’t in love. I would give anything to stop loving, or to have never loved in the first place. Why didn’t I run away, why did I dream? What possessed me to ever think I would experience that perfect kind of love again, the loyalty, the trust, the friendship. What a silly woman I was to think that all of this would end in a fairytale. 

And then that moment comes—the reality washes over you like a wave. For so long I was closing my eyes and pretending like that wave wasn’t going to hit me, as if it cared to stop for stupid little me. It comes though, that wave of reality, of clarity and knowledge about what you just lived and experienced. You realize. Remember when Fay realizes Jimmy is a terrible, selfish person in That Thing You Do? Epic monologue. 

I have wasted thousands and thousands of kisses on you - kisses that I thought were special because of your lips and your smile and all your color and life. I used to think that was the real you, when you smiled. But now I know you don’t mean any of it. Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight.

At first the salt stings, and you can’t breathe, and you are getting tossed around, and maybe you even scrape a few rocks. You don’t know which way is up. Finally, after what seems like forever, you come up for air. That first breathe underneath the sunshine, feeling so alive and safe, and free—is indescribable. 

Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed to tight.

My eyes are open now…and I see everything. The disillusionment is hard, but it is nothing compared to the wanted and faithful ignorance I kept myself in for so many years. 

Eggless blueberry pancakes (miniature for William of course), with Canadian maple butter. 😍
Last one, I promise— but I just love him so much. #bellyflop
#WILLIAM

I HAVE A FISH!!! Having a proud mommy moment because guys, William taught himself how to swim!!! I did nothing but sit back and relax. Watch out Michael Phelps, my baby is #1 ☝️

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you - especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, - you’d forget me.”

—   Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
I almost know Childe Harold. The unapologetic, proud, selfish sinner. Had dozens of women, but only ever loved one. He is young—early twenties probably. He is about to leave England (literally getting on the ship) to travel through Turkey and other countries, leaving home for the first time, alone. 
The woman he loved would never be his (we don’t know why yet). She feels like she escaped him, and was happier for it, because it sounds like she was a good woman but he “soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss.” He was never meant to settle down with her, but he is obviously heartbroken. 
And from his “fellow bacchanals would flee.” (Bacchanals are “occasions of drunk and wild revelry”). Whenever he would almost cry, his pride would stop him. So he leaves England in search of experiences that are “with pleasure drugg’d.” Despite all of this, the heartbreak follows him. 
Yet, the traveler who is escaping… If you’re escaping with another person, a drunken night with friends, a rush of adrenaline, or leaving the country…it’s useless. I used to do this. Every time my heart got broken I ran away. But Childe Harold is in for a disappointing truth; you can’t leave your heart behind. You can’t leave your past behind, you can’t erase the sadness. It will be there in every bar you walk into, in every country you travel to, in every woman you sleep with. Sadness and its heavy weights, regret, disappointment—it lifts on its own time, when its ready. I know that now. 
Lord Byron was a genius—I just wish I didn’t know him so well. 

I almost know Childe Harold. The unapologetic, proud, selfish sinner. Had dozens of women, but only ever loved one. He is young—early twenties probably. He is about to leave England (literally getting on the ship) to travel through Turkey and other countries, leaving home for the first time, alone. 

The woman he loved would never be his (we don’t know why yet). She feels like she escaped him, and was happier for it, because it sounds like she was a good woman but he “soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss.” He was never meant to settle down with her, but he is obviously heartbroken. 

And from his “fellow bacchanals would flee.” (Bacchanals are “occasions of drunk and wild revelry”). Whenever he would almost cry, his pride would stop him. So he leaves England in search of experiences that are “with pleasure drugg’d.” Despite all of this, the heartbreak follows him. 

Yet, the traveler who is escaping… If you’re escaping with another person, a drunken night with friends, a rush of adrenaline, or leaving the country…it’s useless. I used to do this. Every time my heart got broken I ran away. But Childe Harold is in for a disappointing truth; you can’t leave your heart behind. You can’t leave your past behind, you can’t erase the sadness. It will be there in every bar you walk into, in every country you travel to, in every woman you sleep with. Sadness and its heavy weights, regret, disappointment—it lifts on its own time, when its ready. I know that now. 

Lord Byron was a genius—I just wish I didn’t know him so well. 

William and I are going berry picking this morning on the side of some mountain a few minutes away. The berries get picked out early, so we can’t waste any time! Also, William taught himself how to swim last night. We were at the pool for about two hours, and at beginning, he would try and swim (face under water, everything), but would always chicken out and put his toes back onto the bottom of the shallow end. Two hours later, he was swimming like a fish all over the shallow end and jumping off the side of the pool. There is still a lot of work to do, but wow—I am the proudest momma right now!

I couldn’t resist.
Walking, and not walking. #hotdays #virginiatech @danicalifornia3  (at Virginia Tech Owens Dinning Hall)