I haven't been writing lately. I haven't been doing much of anything lately. At least nothing creative. My day to day has left me empty at this point.
That's not ok. Not anymore.
And so, I'm dedicating myself, again, to 40 straight days of writing.
Part of my problem is that there's been so much I've been grappling with it's been easier to shut down and not think. Not feel. But the anxiety is coming back and I know, I KNOW, that it's my inner self's way of saying why the fuck are you doing?! Not dealing is not helping. And writing has been, for the past year, a constructive way to process all that's swirling around me - both inside and out.
So. Here I go. For those not interested in the struggle and angst and occasional whine, consider yourselves forewarned.
For the rest of you, not to mention me, I've got Hannukah starting tomorrow. A call in to a transplant coordinator about donating my kidney. A line of middle school merchandise to get produced. Work to find in a market where people are desperate and there's no work to be found. There's the continued lack of a creative project - those constructive distractions kept me sane during insane times. The ever present what's next. The challenge of knitting my first dog sweater, contemplating my first tattoo, fighting off my underlying fear that I won't be able to handle things and will break down. Relatives who aren't well. Kids who are growing and grappling to find their paths. Hurting and healing from my own stuff both physical and in the head drama.
Redefining who I want to be.
Curious to see what te next 39 days bring.