Taking a break from working, usually marching through duties keeps me from running off the railroad tracks, but I keep returning to that funky thing I called “sentimental.”
In response, you said, "that can mean many things- ."
"Yes I know. I’m not maudlin but back looking, sometimes with glasses that color courage. "
Normally I think I can do anything, and instead I today want to write this weak whiny poetry and curl up somewhere and ache. I’m flopping in emotions. Telling you about my experience as a girl was both cathartic and ghost stirring. You are an amazing friend and I am happy that I trust you.
What you shared with me about your life makes me want to create a magical story that heals everything, knowing that is dumb, but plinking away on the keyboard at it anyways. I have a pretty good aim with a 22 at a tiny tuna can from afar. At this time, I'm braving and trying to change the universe with one more drop, one last fallen leaf saved with glycerin and painted new.
Needing a hug and want to thank you kindly for listening but going to leave this unsent, unspoken. Fall is my favorite time of year, but Catholic Confession seems to be tugging me down some Roman aqueduct.
Therefore, I’m driving to Claremont to climb up Mount Baldy and doing either Devils’ Backbone and/or the San Antonio Falls Loop by myself late today. The trees are shaking their Fall leaves and I’m sure to get some lovely photographs, and I pray write something brilliant.
My ex-husband is picking up the children for once in a Harvest Moon. I let go that past a long time ago, but God knows in the next life he'll pay. I’m not telling the kids about me going overnight with just a day pack and sleep roll. They get weird about me hiking by myself. I stand tall at five foot one, crossing my fingers knowing the doing makes me feel invincible. Call out the reinforcements if I lose my way.