I sit in my skin and look out at the walls. I try to imagine them bare but lack in imagination. I swallow hard on the answer of this is where I'll live. Which painting will go where? What can I let go?
First and foremost, the issue of the desk, a large wooden table with wrought iron legs. It will have to be moved and won't fit in the car. Though it could provide for some interesting photos to someone that day if I decide to secure it to the top of the Civic and turn the four hour drive into an eight hour one. This desk, it knows I'll figure it out. We'll* get it to where I am going. I've already spotted it's place under a window looking out into a field. There's a horse who comes there at night. One of my responsibilities will be to feed him.
I am returning home not as a hero. The only battles I fought were in the wars I declared. Timid? I couldn't be. I had to shout and curse and push and say this is where I draw the line. Your flag over there, I'll stake camp here. Don't look at me that way, don't make me call the posse**. You don't know who you're messing with. Nobody ever accused me of being a princess.
One guy is dead, the other in prison.
I have lost some friends and obviously tried to take my own life.
I didn't make it look easy.
Until one day something broke.
I decided I didn't want to be angry anymore.
I didn't want to hate.
There is a part of me which simply laid down, moved away.
Right now, I think, I am just trying to figure out which parts of me are still living. mother. daughter. sister. aunt. friend. writer. blogger.
I will be a photographer.
Today I am so very grateful to have a home and family and friends and whattaya' know, still. aspirations. (you know, those things which tell you your heart is still beating)
good things. beating good things, like love.
*When I say we, it is the team of people I have on staff who are not reading this and will mistakenly answer the phone.