Forcing myself to write since it has been almost a MONTH. Rewinding April and not finding much obvious material. Dad is still dead and getting deader every day. Deader in the sense that those weird specific memories - mundane things that get tattooed on the brain - are getting pruned off. I recorded as much as I could towards his end. God knows when I'll have the strength to open those journals again.
So that's unchanged.
Most of my life gets eaten up by Dateline. Hmm. Other people dying. Interesting. So much death but I want to live. I don't always want to be here, but I want to LIVE. Does that make sense? I want chances. Luckily I HAVE chances and choices. Not to mention love. Lots of it, and everyone knows.
I keep saying things with the vague hopes that they'll hook or help someone. I still write for myself more than anyone else. I'm the best audience I'll ever have.
My cat is snuggled up next to me. She always gets as close as she can to my arm or sits on my stomach. ALL of the kidney squishing. I couldn’t love anything or anyone more.
I watched a movie with a beautiful woman today - Becky in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. She’s beautiful because she seemed to constantly be in awe. She was so absorbed in Big Things that she became just as pure and powerful as the sky. She watched everything, just like the sky does.
I love the sky too. It is always changing and then returning to its “baseline“ - to me, each sky is beautiful. The changing colors of the sky… they are really something. Yet I usually forget about it all. Who wouldn’t?
I hope I start remembering more beautiful things.
Burning down everything is not the answer. ❤️
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