There is this strange restlessness that doesn’t seem to be contained in my skin. I know it’s the finals of the writing process, now only two weeks from being done with the soul thief and living every moment of the movie with the people only I’ve known until now. It’s amazing how they take on a life of there own, how they are three dimensional in a two dimensional world, more than more real humans I meet.
I lived on prayer incense and the hope of knowing what to do next for the past few weeks. Funny how the last year has taught me to be resilient to being broken by others choices. I feel stronger, more capable, more whole.
Brian, as always, is this amazing source of balance and friendship, true love and knowledge. I’d be dead if it weren’t for him, unable to tell the difference from the edge of the cliff and the stable roadway.
I am listening to
03. Turning Tablesand the Homecoming song on my playlist, wishing that I could change things and wishing that I could talk to my best friend for a while. I miss the ocean, my home by the sea. I miss being okay with how it all turned out. I am the Beautiful Disaster.
I’m on the way to talk to the state office next week, to let go of the past and to walk blindly, courageously into a future that has nothing in it I believed in. I take that back. It has the family that has loved me through everything, through diagnosis, through muscle loss, through insanity and back again. Shea and I are taking the baby to a BTR concert on the 11th, and I am hoping to have the manuscript to Daniel by then. Family dinner at Bucca, the night to celebrate that I don’t have an assignment for six whole months….I just get to be a grad student. I’m off to Verona after the first of the year, to NC for Thanksgiving, and to our new house in Atlantic Beach if we close it by Christmas.
God, I love being alive. I am so sorry I almost lost it over what amounts to no more than an shadow.
I love you, Father.