The smallest thing — glads — four bunches. In the kitchen arched sprays of white tower from the island. In the bathroom, orange and white.
Orange for the orange chakra.
No sure how I am in this corner — how I got to be here, but yesterday or the other I heard him very clearly when he said, “just shut up and listen to me.”
I wrote it down.
It was like I heard the vise I have been living under all these years.
Day fourteen anti-d.
A bit better.
The first five days I could have offed myself. No kidding. This is only temp for me, because, I have no plans to be on pills. Nope.
Less crying, ability to feel a small slice of order in my life.
All these years why couldn’t I come first?
Why was it parents, tenants, him…
I want to go up to the Sur and sleep under the redwoods by the river. Walk the beaches. Be held.
Am cleaning. Am reorganizing. He isn’t packing his things. I have to. It’s slow.
There is nothing, really.
What haven’t I lost?
My own style.
Refleshing that out right now.
I am trying to breathe.
I am trying to eat.
This morning cereal. This morning paperwork. This morning I feel underwater. 27 years of listening to the above. Hard to sort out. What it implies is — “YOU KNOW NOTHING.”
I think that is emotional abuse you know? I do.
Each day apart makes all of that clearer.
Before, I had flowers all the time.
This was only $8.00 worth of glads.
Friends coming over, today and Saturday.
Each day another step. Each day another room. Brighter. But it’s like swimming up and away.
3 thoughts on “the smallest remedies, flowers…”
Lovely flowers. You have a gift. Declaring order. And Harmony. Harmony. Glad friends are there. You will eat.
And be well.
Hi again, glad your brother is coming. Talk again soon.
Well, when you come out and see? Harmony. Yes that is a goal. Take care today Song.