Still here.

Here I am. My brain still feels scrambled. I hesitate to write about it, because it’s not a worrisome thing. Not a thing even, more just a confused state. Although not too confused to carry on with the every day, the teeth brushing, the work dwelling, the dish doing and the dog walking. Our strong and beautiful tomato plants still get a daily inspection and talking too, weeds get pulled, clothes get put on and taken off.

But there are these blank feelings. Like there is something amazing hiding or just on its way or smoldering. Like there is a terrific beauty right in front of my eyes, and I just can’t see it. (Which there is. Because there always is.)

I seem to be, lately, in a constant state of plotting, only the goal changes minute by minute, the plan changes with every new thought in my head. It’s like the old days at the library, line after line after line of text passing as you slide the microfiche, looking for that one headline, that one article that you need right now. And the feeling, as I search, is the same. Dizzy, heady, hopeful, impatient, and just a touch sick to my stomach.

It’s not unpleasant. It’s something, you know. It’s something. And that’s what I want. Some sort of change, some sort of corner turned, some sort of chapter put to rest, some new thing started. I can feel it. A culmination. But of what?