Be the change you want to see.

i spend enough of my days feeling numb that i simply don't have pretty words to spend.
yes it's the pandemic
but i didn't have enough pretty words recently to do more than write something tiny

i want to paint with words but with me the feelings happen and then the words happen.
no feelings? no words.

numb feels safer right now.

i feel helpless. i feel angry. i worry about catching coronavirus but i worry more about this future i assumed i knew the shape of and now it's this blank desert sand, blown by the wind into ripples and dunes, nothing permanent.

i've been ostriching pretty hard in my house for months. well before the shelter in place

numb means i don't abuse myself about how i should be doing more, though I *think* I've broken myself of that habit?

=-/

*exhallllllllle*

our girl wrenb brought us masks. I'm so glad for her and her quiet competence, love and support. I finally test-ran a mask i made today on a walk with Spouse who used to be Eeyore42... and my fabric is too dense to manage even light exertion. the flannel's gotta go, which means unpicking 17 or 18 mask blanks, dammit. but i could run up 10 or so fresh ones once i pick out and tear up new lining material. And i could put the ones that need seam ripped in the living room with the seam ripper and just grab that as a project the next time i sit on the couch.

*huffs* and suddenly i have a plan. clearly i need to write here more and stop lying about the house reading quite so much facebook. Make shit feel better. write words feel better.

okay then.

Today i let my therapist go.

I feel really good about this. Solid, confident, like this cycle of healing is done and I'm ready to be challenged by the next lessons in creativity, compassion, and empathy. \m/

for Inktober, a meme crossed my dash on FB

i wanna write short pieces for each of them

day 1 is Witch

I didn't plan to become a witch
but the pain was too much
and it had to go somewhere

you flayed me open
pushed inside and
burned my heart

I pulled myself back together
grasping at ragged frayed edges
of my dignity and personhood

and then I finally got home:
told you what I thought of you
and burned the last vestiges in the sink.

wiping all of your fingerprints off
may never be completely finished
because fuck this stupid world anyway

getting bad-touched again and again
till you can say no and mean it
and make it stick (goddamn those who push straight to hell)

goddamn me too; I try to do right/write/rite
without the language to call it what it is
and so I study the secret words.

Power. Words are Power.
Name it. Hold it still.
And someday? it will do as you will.