once it’s out, you’re done for

Good LORD it has been a week.

As a writer I know I need to find the words, but I’m struggling.

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So much is going on and yes I’m going to vague-blog for now, sorry, but it’s everything, writing and work and family and misophonia and life and

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I feel exhausted from the inside out, charred like a stump that got hit by lightning and smoldered for awhile.

Energized, raw, with a slight danger of collapse.

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Misophonia outwits my most valiant attempts at being among friends in a public space. I snapped at beloveds the other night at an outdoor show. I knew I was going to, knew it would spoil the evening, heard the words exit my lips & saw their faces register my irritation & desperately tried to reel it all back in but I could not, in the same way you can’t re-roll a sleeping bag back into its little nylon case or put toothpaste back in the tube. It was in there, compressed and tidy and coiled to escape.

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Once it’s out, you’re done for.

the struggle it is real

Last week's Free Will Astrology brought me to tears. I read it in the back of The Stranger, on the bus home. What do my heart and soul have to tell me? I'm doing a pretty good job of tuning them out.
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Right next to my keyboard at work, I keep 3 things: an acorn, a tiny gold buddha, and a paper on which I wrote, "is it true? is it necessary? is it kind?"

nix

Nothing to say, nowhere to say it.