I was in tears this morning because of a video a friend sent me, showing the way a Hispanic journalist was treated by a certain man whom I choose not to mention. The great thing about working in the mental health field is that Healers are all around me. I was given advice by one of them, saying that we have a lot of time ahead of us and we cannot allow ourselves to be exhausted before the fight really begins. So, I took Facebook off my phone once again (I had put it on in the last few weeks of chaos in order to keep in touch with someone). I also need to stop being this goddamn martyr, trying to “bridge the chasm.” Fuck that. I’m not Joan of Arc. 
On the way to school, my son asked me if I was writing my Five a Day. I told him I wasn’t, that I didn’t have time anymore… trying to get to bed at 8 o’clock at night because I feel absolutely exhausted and depleted at the end of the day tends to cut the time short. Yet I wonder if my writing wasn’t one of the things that kept me more grounded than I thought?
A really rough morning, yet without fail, I am shown how good my life really is . An opportunity to meet someone, a life that really could not get much worse. If given the chance, I will fight tooth and nail to help get a little sunlight into that life.
I’m so pissed off, so many steps forward and then a little bit of stress and I tumble down the hill like Jack. No one else really sees it, but I feel it; the boobs are getting so much bigger again and I hate that. It may look good in magazines but they sure as hell isn’t comfortable.
Home. Alone. Kids are with dad at Maggie’s high school orientation. I’m home checking out hotels in New Orleans. I can’t build a fire to save my life, the scanner isn’t working (though it did last week), I still haven’t learned guitar and now I need to learn Spanish. Thank God I go to juvenile hall tomorrow.
Pictures: My voodoo doll; A road I travel on several time a a week.
tribeoftrio.com 