I thought on Denise New Year. And I wrote. A lot. The year is not going to magically give itself to me.
It’s a lovely day. As it was about 4-5 years ago when I was veryvery depressed once. I’d had a hard September, not like the one I just had -hard in a less mature, differently painful way.
I was starting to become distrustful of my city and she was turning against me. The summer had been hot and dreadful, I do remember that. Something bad had happened that I’ve blocked down a bit. The things I thought I had, I lost. It turns out we don’t really own anything. So I will work. As I did then. At my pace. On my terms.
I have decided to stop freaking out. I will at least try [note: except for the cockroaches. And heights. And tiny enclosed spaces. And some very angry large crowds. Those don’t count.]
I’m a girl. I fret. And I know it’s not a girl thing. But my worries are for art.
So I do this.
I’m still smart enough not to let out most of the stuff I say. It’s the right thing to do.
If I MIGHT be devastated enough in the evening to cry through the night – I will enjoy my morning coffee enough to have made my mood pleasant through the afternoon.
Maybe things will remain fantastic. I don’t want to look back on years of wasted mornings. Being prepared for disaster hasn’t softened anything for me before.
Being careful has failed. I am going to endeavor to be less shy
…about many things.
I played a song for a friend yesterday. Weirdly, if I can crack out of where I am, I think there’s a place for me here on stage. There’s not really one *here* for me, in this virtuality..The place I have carved out on this corner of the cyber beach is filling up; which tells me the tide is coming in.
But there is nothing more natural than the tide.
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