PlazaJen: Passion Knit

....Don't say anything at all.

It might be contributing to my delinquent blogging. (though that may be related to a flurry of work, and other etcetera things...) I'm just tired. I've allowed my husband to see me at my most vulnerable, ugly self, and then to get through the day, I feel myself fold up like a flower at night, trying to protect the most fragile anthers within translucent petals. My, I'm looking up all the parts of a flower and the metaphors and visuals are loaded. Filaments and anthers ....... fragility and answers..... Stamen, Stamina.... Here I face my blog, subtitled "Riding the bike with one pedal...petal..." I'm sure I could do a bit more with it if my brain weren't feeling so stunted. I'm my own worst enemy, always have been. Whatever self-loathing seeds my mother planted, oh so long ago, I have tended and watered and replanted, year after year.

Time for some Roundup.

I'm in a bit of a low spot, and I do always clamber back out. I was lunching with Laura today and we were trading Dead Dad stories (which strangely enough, was :not: depressing, though it may sound that way to you). I think the befuddlement of grief, for me, will always be the non-linear-ness about it. How you can buy every hotel and put them on Park Place and the Boardwalk, and yet you can still go directly to Jail, do not pass Go, you can plummet straight to the depths you never imagined you'd see again, because the whole point of a journey is TO MOVE, and moving usually involves forward or back, and forward is progress, and you made all this progress and then, WHAM! The elasticity of the pain is shocking. The bungee cord of grief. It's a motherfucker.

And that's all I can say.

Labels: grief, the next year