loves me not.

My sister, my beloved, sent this to me last week with undeniably sweet intention. She knows the language my heart speaks – the undercurrent of emotion running deep beneath my surface. She sees in me what I see in her: the spirit of a seeker, a soul on a homeward path, a woman of depth … More loves me not.

yes, yes.

(Lake Michigan – March 2017) Lately, words are not moving through me easily. Or probably more accurately, I’m having too much fun to spend my free time in front of a computer screen. The weather broke. The woods call me home. Spring is a baptism. My sisters, my brothers, my nephew, my mother and father…I … More yes, yes.

doomsday prepper. 

It’s back. I feel the edge of sanity slipping beneath my fingertips. I’m desperately tightening my grip, even as my palms become slick with perspiration. I’m afraid I’ll lose the battle and I’m afraid of the fact that my soul is growing tired. The lure of letting go, plummeting into the unknown, is growing in … More doomsday prepper. 

all boxed up.

I felt her in the airy fabric, the vibrant colors. I handled each piece tenderly…pausing to breathe deeply, to smell her from a distance. Smiling, I closed my eyes and remembered moments belonging to her. The remembering was both achingly foreign and warmly familiar. The energy in the room lifted as if removing the lid … More all boxed up.

maintenance.

Our brief interaction could have been scripted for the prelude of a cheap porno. A man was literally in my apartment to fix my pipes. I fought the urge to laugh while I sat on my sofa with a cup of coffee. He toiled in my laundry room, moving the washer and  dryer away from … More maintenance.

melancholia.

If my 13 month old nephew claimed my current attitude as his own, we’d call him a ‘Grumpy Gus’ because even when he’s being difficult, he’s still charming and adorable. Since I’m a 27 year old adult severely lacking in charm at the moment, my current attitude just makes me a dick. I’ve been stalled … More melancholia.

too much.

Laying on my mat in corpse pose at the end of a challenging yoga class with Norah Jones singing, “I wanna wake up with the rain, falling on a tin roof, while I’m safe there in your arms…” I felt the urge to cry. The room was peaceful with 30 of us breathing deeply in … More too much.