confession: i wish people would listen to what i tell them is true for me and respect those requests.
confession: earlier this week i spent several days in worse-than-usual shouldn’t-be-left-alone pain. i’m grateful to those who stay with me when i’m incapacitated by pain.
confession: the checks are written. the checks are piling up. i’ve been too weak to deliver the checks to waiting hands.
confession: because i’ve been bed-bound, i’ve read a book per day and the characters in each book appear in my dreams.
confession: i’m a natural empath. since i quit formally working as a non-traditional healer many years ago, i forget that i’m an empath because it happens naturally for me in every situation every hour of every day. i noticed that every time i pass the alzheimer’s residential care center that i become confused and disoriented. it has taken me five years to realize that my confusion at that intersection is empathetic. i need to pay more attention to all the other obvious things i’m feeling that belong to others and are not originating in my body, mind, or heart.
confession: if you knew how much i loved seasonal fruits and sharp paring knives, you’d try to woo me with citrus and cutlery this week, and it would work.
confession: green tea instantly makes my body feel better, but half the time, my tongue reviles the taste of it.
confession: i determine each week not to write about her and i fail.
confession: lately i’ve felt like i was dying by pin pricks, bleeding one drop at a time, feverish with infection. i feel weakened. i’m waiting to feel stronger.
confession: i had planned to drive west this week, to go away, to disappear into the giant night sky. something happened, the trip was canceled, and then i got sicker. when the trip was planned, he said it would be “now or never” and since it wasn’t now, i’m afraid i’ll never go. i’ve missed many opportunities that way. sometimes they return. usually they don’t.