Finding in Scribblings

I feel somewhat lost at the moment, overshadowed by my profession. As if it has swallowed me whole and I'm treading water surrounded by acronyms, judgements, levels and buzz words. If I close my eyes though, I feel fragments of what seem like a past life slipping by. They brush gently through my hair, smelling sweet and sticky and whispering almost forgotten words. In those instants I am reclining on a hard single bed, a huge window open, the sun setting as cigarette smoke curls softly from my lips. I am content. Sometimes in those moments I am hot and balmy, sand slips between my toes and my skin fells tight with salt and sun. Other times I am charged with the scents of grass and mud, covered in strangers beer, totally absorbed in the music surrounding us bringing us together as people, almost as friends. Still other times I am cold, my lips numb, my heart racing with adrenaline, powder coated, flying and almost literally on top of the world. Then there are times where I am packed into a metro carriage, the sugary, tangy taste of framboise on my lips, sparkling eyes, excitement and belonging. I am in a bunk bed in a room of strangers my head spinning with sights, with inspiration, with longing. I am on an island untouched since the war eating baguettes and Boursin. I am high up in a tree at midnight proclaiming I shall never stay anywhere long enough to grow attached to anyone. I am lying in the grass with gin and friends solving maths problems. I am eating a picnic with new friends, hopes, ambitions and burnt shoulders. I am dancing in the new year while snow drifts down to settle on my eyelashes. I am catching fish on a rocking, ancient boat to the amazement of those around me. I am exploring rock pools. I am creating with acrylics, with wire and beads, with ink and with words. I am on a bouncy castle my ball dress discarded in favour of pyjamas. I am a hundred different girls. Right now though, not one feels like me.