My heart wants something, anything to be different. Should I give up now?

My throat scorches me. I long to lose myself in the world. I cannot bear to turn to the news, because there was an awful shooting, so I turn to the weather. You know you’re getting older because you seek the weather. It changes, it can be threatening, for sure, but it’s not petty or evil. And You can handle the weather, even if it kills you.

I’m less sure otherwise. I seem to have lost the epicenter where I normally dwell and the place I write from. Today in dance, I lost myself in the mirror. I no longer cared where I was, and when my reflection reappeared, I wasn’t attached to whether that was me or not. I’m tired. I’m hurting. My daughter stormed out yesterday after Christopher asked her to try and do more to stay well. He’s threatened by her frequent illness because he gets sick easily and stays sick and it keeps him from singing, and teaching—it threatens his livelihood.

I feel terrible. Shifts happen.  He’s realizing her gift of just being and how everyone who relates to her winds up learning to let go and love themselves more so they can accept her exactly as she is.  Because she stormed out before the conversation ended, I asked her to work it out with him, and she said she will. I’m counting on her to return and finish the dialogue after the storm and to say what she feels and what she needs.

Everything I write feels already throw-away. Trash. I’m supposed to give myself permission to write crap. That’s part of any art being its full self, right? When I don’t know how else to connect, I hand my body the mic.

My throat wants to take me bowling. My throat wants me to go to the movies. My shoulders would like to tell Christopher off, not because he actually did anything wrong, but because I don’t want to have to deal with this. He always walks right into the places people would rather keep unconscious. And I did NOT need any extra drama this week. I cry a little, which helps. My throat wants me to go to a sunny spot and lie down and rest. But there is so much turmoil in the world, including the rising seas, we’d have to be careful where we choose to relax or we might wind up rising up up and away.

The back of my neck wants to tell everyone off, except maybe Hannah. She I’d let come over to watch a movie with me. She’s the one person I love unconditionally in this world. What if she doesn’t want to come over anymore? I feel like one giant loss.

I am used socks. I’m soft, a little full of pile, but warm. I don’t really belong anywhere or to anyone, and yet. And yet. Yet I have always been ready to go home with you. I belong anywhere. Everyone will be pleased to have me. I have enormous merit. I was always well-made. I believe in and hope for a better future than our shared past. I think we can do this together.