Wednesday, January 13, 2021
Since my last post, the holidays passed quietly, my radiation treatments are over, I had four teeth extracted, over 350,000 have died from COVID, and many more are living with severe long term effects. There was a riotous failed coup on my birthday. And yet, I’m okay?
The rollercoaster is intense, at home, and in the world. 4am scrolling is not an unknown. I wish it was.
Re: writing, I get what I can when I can. I feel more like I can write now, mentally, than for the past year - ooo, 8, 12? My kid is still attempting online schooling, and I don’t know that any kids who have a little extra needs in so many areas right now can academically succeed. But, given everything in their young lives, I do believe the kids will be alright.
Poems come in pieces. Scenes in fragments. Fiction almost non-existent, and memoir or journaling, I’m just sick of myself, my cancer journey, and the recklessness of everything right now.
By how mixed each above paragraph is, you see how writing is going. But I’m still here, it’s still my life’s blood and work, whether words form well, or on paper, or toss to the wind. Meanwhile, long walks at the beach are a balm. I'm okay, really I am. I hope you are, too.