I feel like I should be writing in a whisper, not normally the emotion as I type.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of whirly experiences, which I’m keeping very close.
This is a terrible place to be for a writer; to have words that sit still, because I can’t figure out how to make them unlock.
The biggies (like love and sex) are stuck in my brain.
The importants (like kids and yoga) breathe energy into my life, but not my work.
Fashion seems frivolous.
I’ve no appetite to boot (this is a good thing).
What I can say, and share, is that my friends have never felt more important to my life. They pull me back to Earth, right as I’m determinedly floating off somewhere far, far away. They’ve surprised me by sharing some of their own secrets. The non-judgementalness of those I’ve chosen makes me sure that I’m blessed.
Eventually. When I look back at this time in my life in visual form (which is how I do) I will see myself as a red balloon. My friends, the many, many strings grabbing hold of my tight, stretched underbelly.
And I’ll know that despite the confusion of these days, they were the one and only thing that made perfect sense.
None of this is to imply that I’m not happy, or doing well. Being stretched thin while trying to find your life is a very complicated job.