Well it's been a hell of a week.

For a while I haven't been writing because I've not had the words or the drive to try to explain the effed up conditions of my life to strangers.  I found that I didn't want to talk about my feelings about the year after Boss passed.  I wrote my song, I sang my song.  In doing so I learned a lot about music and songs and what it means to run one's own heart through a shredder to produce a personally authentic piece and have just about everyone else step up and say "That says what I feel!".

i think it's supposed to be a good feeling, but I'm not sure that it is.  

See, I'd wanted to write a perfectly universal and understandable bit about loss and sadness, but I couldn't.  So I wrote exactly what I was feeling and made it totally selfish and totally about me me me me me.  I wrote about my pain and my upset and my feelings and my needs and my wants... only to discover that when i performed it, the piece was taken up by others as representing what they felt as well.

This trash is confusing.  Is it any wonder that in times of emotional turmoil and conflict that I focus on food as the great comfort and common denominator?

Well, that food bit there is exactly what pushed me beyond my  language barrier. 

In the past week my main meals have been from Burger King, Taco Bell, Arby's, Mighty Taco (a bastion of Buf-Mex cuisine), Arby's, and Burger King.  I have pulled healthy elements from their menues and enjoyed them responsibly.  I've used the energy therefrom to get my body to function when it just wanted to sleep and catch up.  I have called each of the people behind the counter by the names on their name tags.  I made eye contact with them and thanked them.  

 Today I am home home home for the first day in a long time.  I can just nap or relax... and yet, I find myself heading into the kitchen, staring at the food on the shelves.  I find myself planning for beans and rice, stuffed rice balls, split pea soup, hominy pudding, bread bread bread. 

I have to go out, get to the store, go get my dog from his sleep over at his brother's place.  I have to start thinking about planning lunches for Katie and I for this winter.  I have to take care of so much and set things up to be ready to continue feeding us.

Maybe this is what sets me free from  the inability to write right now.  It's not the big pains the big horrors or the big thinks that compell us to communicate with one another.

It's the little thinks.  The mundane thinks.  

I'd like a sandwich.  Let's go for coffee.  Shall we have some wine?  Would you like a cuppa?  

It's the big thinks that fill my head, but it is always the small and real thinks that keep me connecting with other people.

Thank you for being here while I've been off thinking and coughing and driving.  And thank you for keeping on with your own paths.  

You know, you really make it worth coming back here.