Cotton Harvest

I still twitch every time I tweeze the soft white cotton out of a new vitamin bottle. The fresh cleanness of it seems like it needs to be kept. After my mother died I spent several months digging stashes of pure white cotton preserved in plastic baggies from the back of deep drawers and travel-totes full of first aid supplies. Today I brought home a brand new bottle of multi's and carefully cinched the cotton out between two fingers, twitching. The look and feel of it livened me, softened me, and created in me a strong desire to tuck it away. Instead I moved with it to the trash in a deliberate act of loving her and letting go. After I dropped it I closed the cupboard door without looking down to see it there, presumably setting lightly atop my soiled heap of kitchen trash.

It's St Patty's day and Jax and I greeting the green-clad drinkers throughout town as we headed to and from Dog Beach. Some of the men flirted with Jax, some of them flirted with me. I wondered about my plan to stay at home tonight.

Silver Lining

If I ever get around to making my own blog:

I'll write every night. I'll be sure to capture moments with careful attention to detail. I'll never let the momentum of life get the better of me. I'll survive this madness with my spirit intact, writing like mad to preserve creativity and connection to the realness of the world around me. I'll keep myself from forgetting. I'll be brave enough to share my thoughts with others. I'll be brave enough to write, every day, even though someone could read it. . . anyone could.

Maybe no one would, but that is not the point.

I trust they would if they knew about all the things I spend my day thinking of, and of the life that is inside me brighter than anything I see in the mirror, anything that could fit into tight jeans, anything that I see around me, anything I've made to date. I write to keep this and make it more than to show it.

The dog is whining and needs a walk. Even though it's 11pm - his energy is too high to sleep.