Way down deep inside, is a bit sad and melancholy. Even though I’ve been super busy, even though I’ve laughed (a lot!) and even though there is happy *all around me*. I go from feeling a bit nervous about it, to being angry about it having the audacity to be there, and then to feeling pretty darn helpless.
And then I feel I need a drink. Or twelve. Maybe if I had that, I would share that deep part. Certainly out in the world and in my own home it is pushed away, pushed down. “For later”. For when I have support, for when I feel safe enough to share. I can’t be pushed to, I can’t schedule a time for it to come out. It can leak out, by fits and starts and later on I can plug the empty spot where the leak was.
I can write. I have gone back to carrying a small notebook and pencil on which to write these little things that come out and come into my head. Some of it is beautiful, some of it grotesque, some just plain and boring. I don’t have to remember it for later, I can just put it right down and out. Aaah. Maybe some of it will morph into something else, or just be burned into a future campfire.