When I wrote last, I was all empowered and stuff about what I was going to do with my time, organizing it, using it wisely. And then I realized that I might be obsessed with it. So, I had an about-face from what I wrote just a few weeks ago; how quickly time changes things.
Most days, I am giddy, my stomach bursting with excitement, that I am a strange miracle among many, and know that life is good. Some days – a few more lately, I have to admit – a quiet, heavy sadness settles over the day. I am afraid. How does my belief system pony-up to this new set of rules, the ones that say everything is uncertain? But, even when I thought things were certain, they never were, never are for anyone. Oh how I miss that facade: There's no uncertainty in that. And then I realize, too: I am alive.
|My sister gave me this gorgeous pie plate, from Anthro. The numbers are a mystery. They remind me of time.|
It's okay to be figuring things out all over again. After all, I've just been through a shit-storm, and maybe I should be paying less attention to time, not more. Maybe I even should do things I don't feel like doing, because I don't always feel like doing things that are good for me, like getting out of the house, seeing people, engaging, connecting, doing.
The only thing that I really need to know about time is that mine is not running out, and the rest, is up to God.