I thought so much today about my life. What feels good, what doesn’t. What makes me heal, and what doesn’t. I sorted family mementos for the last two days. It’s exhausting me emotionally, but it’s necessary. I found a lot of love letters I’d saved in that stack. A lot. It filled my heart with joy. And sadness. I kept several, because people telling you that they love you and why is a precious gift. I’m extremely lucky to have been witness to love in my life as much as I have.
Tom went out to get himself some food (I didn’t want to) and I was still in my studio. The wind storm kicked up and blew my little studio so hard it was too distracting to work any longer.
I came in the house and his dog had taken all the eggs I collected today, two days worth, and eaten ALL OF THEM. She ate them in the kitchen and she ate them in the living room and on the couch in our room and in the laundry room. For some reason he didn’t put them in crates. It was really hard to clean up, and so windy outside I couldn’t find the broom in the pumphouse. I had to pick it up by hand and by pushing the swiffer mop around.
I was spraying the couch cushions down and I just started bawling. This is NOT what I want. Not the cleaning up of a mess by a dog, but this weird not communicating hurt thing going on between us. This disconnected hurt place where neither of us wants to open the can. It might not close. It hurts too much and no one is really talking. I mentioned to him earlier today that in all the papers of my life, I came across only one card from him. It should feel sweet, but it actually just hurt. It hurts that he doesn’t write words to me. I’m a writer. Any writing he would do would be meaningful to me. He hides behind saying “it’s not my thing.”
So I’m cleaning couch cushions and just bawling. I decided to get in the truck and take a drive and listen to music. I did a little circle, and then found somewhere to write this. I had a kale salad with cranberries and goat cheese and pumpkin seeds and an IPA, even though I think I might be allergic to something in beer (not gluten) and I really shouldn’t drink beer. I’ve cut WAY back.
I sat down to write. And all I could think about was GIRL ON FIRE. GIRL ON FIRE. GIRL. ON. FIRE.
I’m on fire. I’m so sick of living in a destruction phase in life. I’m ready to build and grow and master.
They’re mopping the floors around me. I had better go.
I will not be put out. I’m Katniss Everdeen and I’m not going to take it anymore.