THE LONG ROAD HOME
It’s the unfun bit of travel – going home. And after three months, it’s the bit to look forward to – going home.
It’s the unfun bit of travel – going home. And after three months, it’s the bit to look forward to – going home.
Every day – every moment – of my life, I change and transform one way or another. My body constantly regenerates – most of it anyway. Some cells every few days, some every few years. And a few important cells in the brain we apparently need to treat carefully as they’re just one-timers. But overall, my body has been changing and transforming since that winning sperm first introduced itself to a welcoming ovum more than 52 years ago.
As I may have mentioned once or thrice, I suck at art. And the thought of doing art therapy leaves me feeling cold and slightly nauseated. However, it is also true the art therapist is not only a lovely person, but also a very good therapist. Plus she’s nice to me – and by that I mean, she often lets me write in lieu of drawing. So here’s a few of my art therapy, “works of art”. Spontaneously produced. Unedited. Raw. Cheerless…
How small a world becomes when locked away, be that lock constructed of our own fruition.
I am a master procrastinator. Yes. It’s true. When I want to do something, or necessity dictates I have to get off my butt right now, I’m an amazing gogetter. But when I’m feeling a bit blergh about something, or don’t really want to do it, I can out-procrastinate the world champion procrastinators. In fact I believe if there were such a competition, I’d be inclined to win.
Today I did some dream writing. It was a technique I learned through Joanne when I did her Seven Day Challenge. I was super teary and tired when I started the day today. It’s been a bit of a rough road but you know – that’s life. These things happen. It’ll be fine. I knew I needed to do some writing and couldn’t think of what I needed to write. So I thought I would do some dream writing – I want to mix and match a lot of writing over the period of this January challenge (have I mentioned the January challenge is to write a thousand words every single day? Which doesn’t daunt me in the least. But I don’t want to write the same thousand words in the same boring place every day.) So today I thought – dream writing. And I did. Dream writing involves setting a timer for a set period of time (just 15 minutes today), starting with a “prompt”, and then letting your hand flow across the page for the entire time without stopping or resting or going back at all – just an unbroken stream of thoughts. I wrote the prompt “In the clinic I hope to…” and then my hand flew across the page for fifteen minutes with the following stream of consciousness.
I’ve started reading again. Please let it be known, this is very good news – on numerous levels. In case you haven’t picked up on it before, I have a somewhat addictive nature, and one of the many ways I’ve numbed myself is with candy crush. I take no pride in this. It is a stupid, trivial, pointless game. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with playing candy crush if you’re the kind of person who pops on and plays a couple of levels every now and then. But if you’re like me and managed to get past level 3000 in a depressingly short period of time, then clearly there’s a problem. And no – I haven’t spent any money on it – just a ton of time, which is far more valuable than money.
I have a confession… I am feeling a teensy bit of pride. Pride is something I feel very uncomfortable with – it […]
I’ve spent eight weeks safely nestled in a cocoon of Cs – Conviction, Curiosity, Conscientiousness, Courage, Connection & Commitment. And now I add a seventh – Completion.
The days were cold,
And the skies were grey.
The bare branches swaying in the swift brisk wind.
Still, the black dog slept.
You held me, in the palm of your hands,
When I was young, red-faced and new.
You held my hand, as up I grew,
Then held me in your heart.
From you I learned a love of words,
Of all things wild and all things free.
To nurture all the gifts we have,
Upon this earth called home.
Four score and more your heart once beat,
As life was lived and loved and lost.
So small and dark, and fair and stark,
Daughter, wife and mother.
No matter angst, or bitterness,
Forgiveness is a family trait.
I loved you all the days we had.
And cared as roles reversed.
I hold you, in the palm of my hands,
Your substance, strength, reduced to ash,
No wicked wit, no wise words left,
Now you are here no more.
I believe my bodyguard is Coco. He is a cat. A beautiful, loving, devoted cat who considers himself human. He is intelligent and devoted and loyal. He loves without condition and demonstrates self-care without an ounce of regret or indecision.
There’s a cloak wrapped tight around me.
A cloak of grief.
A cloak of fear.
A cloak of wanton weariness.
I am coming to the end of an eight week online course for recovery from binge eating and/or bulimia. I am about […]
I introduced myself to my fellow writers in the awakening authors course I’m starting soon. I introduced myself in verse 🙂