Lately I've been trying to inspire myself. Soft voices carry through the back of mind and beg me to return. Full force. To all of that brilliance that was life before the broken wrist, the surgery, the job change, the car accident, the dead friends, the month of home repair from hell, the son's operation, the client's bed bound madness, the daughters rape. In short in the brilliance that was anything before ten months ago. With the seemingly constant state of chaos that my world has been producing one can only reasonably conclude that it will continue in this fashion for the foreseeable future. I suppose I shouldn't complain if it does, after all I have managed to maintain a 4.0 gpa during this time as well as keep my children housed, clothed, fed, and moderately happy for spoiled American children anyway. I've also churned out some really fantastic yarn work. Crochet has become my crack, my only real coping mechanism.
I did something new this week though. I got some books from the library that I ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead reading and I intend to read them. Why not? At this point the only thing I stand to lose is a really bad attitude. I'm going to need a better one if I'm going to survive even one more catastrophe. So it's better that I put on my cognitive conditioning hat sooner rather than later.
I have external help this time though the full extent of it remains to be seen, at this point I am just grateful to have a soft place to land that I didn't conjure up on my own in a moment of witchy reality alteration, and doesn't seek to alter me by my continued dwelling there.
So this is me, scanning the page before turning it. Turning, turning, turned.