Bubble wrapped nutcrackers

Life sized. On Fulton Street near the Seaport. Earlier today. They are disassembling Christmas. I disassembled a bed today. A new one will be moving in soon; one more appropriate for a practically teenaged person than a queen sized leftover with a broken slat. For now it’s a queen sized mattress on the floor. The bed has been ordered; now we are going to see how much it costs to get it delivered. If it is too much, we will have to figure out the best way to get it here. Anyway, enough about all that. I was writing earlier today on the bus, and then I wrote a bit more to it just now. So I will post what I was writing.

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There is a place I need to go. What a gift was given me this morning in being reminded that really, my choices, my yesses or nos, my presence or absence, aren’t nearly as important as they grow to be in my strange mind. It’s important that I do what leads to my own peace of mind, my serenity.

In this time once again comes such clarity. A path lies plain to see. Let me take it, please, with as much generosity and faith as you can muster.

Clear to see, but once again it is not the “easier, softer way” I so automatically seek. Oh how deeply inlaid some patterns are; old habits truly do die hard. Chains of bondage, tethering me so tight to so long ago that it becomes hard to breathe and nearly impossible to grow, to go … to evolve.

I am awful. I am good. I am a fool graced with wise counsel. I would document the spectrum of my odd experience. No more odd than yours or hers or his. Unique in humanity’s uniqueness.

A chronicle. A record. The true grace of anonymity. When I began it was pure. Sometimes I have felt hampered by considerations outside of me about what to post. I need to reclaim my right to write. The full array. The life of me.

It is on paper; it is online; it is only the journey of one woman’s soul through her days.

Read at your own risk or pleasure or … whatever. I’m coming home.