greenstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenstorm) wrote2024-12-26 12:08 pm
greenstorm) wrote2024-12-26 12:08 pm
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Solstice has gone unremarked. The fire kept itself and I have been keeping it poorly, as a chore and not a ceremony. I have not been building my life. I have not been keeping myself kindled. I have been waiting.
My words have fallen silent and they still feel silent. When I speak it needs to matter to someone, at least to myself. I haven't been choosing the words that matter. I've been choosing the words that are easier, or letting someone else choose my words.
The things that matter I keep to myself. I don't think there's a lot that matters but it does. I don't have the kind of sustained talking relationship with anyone right now where I can discuss these things in context.
***
My brother is going to have a kid, the first in our immediate family in that generation
I'm beginning to have doubts about my competency to manage some of my own care
I've stopped taking a proactive approach to my own life and that's impacted a lot by unpredictable disability paperwork requirements that I can't get around
I've been sidelined yet again in a poly relationship situation without an honest "hey, I'm changing my priorities" talk -- the "yet again" is the damaging part
Animals may be the casualty of my financial/disability situation, since I can't figure out what or how else to cut things
I have complex feelings and logistics about staying at Threshold if I can't keep the animals
It takes about as long to recover from pottery as it does to forget the shapes of clay under my fingers
***
Writing a poem a day until Imbolc would be the equivalent of keeping the solstice fire through the dark. I barely managed that. Should I try this?
My words have fallen silent and they still feel silent. When I speak it needs to matter to someone, at least to myself. I haven't been choosing the words that matter. I've been choosing the words that are easier, or letting someone else choose my words.
The things that matter I keep to myself. I don't think there's a lot that matters but it does. I don't have the kind of sustained talking relationship with anyone right now where I can discuss these things in context.
***
My brother is going to have a kid, the first in our immediate family in that generation
I'm beginning to have doubts about my competency to manage some of my own care
I've stopped taking a proactive approach to my own life and that's impacted a lot by unpredictable disability paperwork requirements that I can't get around
I've been sidelined yet again in a poly relationship situation without an honest "hey, I'm changing my priorities" talk -- the "yet again" is the damaging part
Animals may be the casualty of my financial/disability situation, since I can't figure out what or how else to cut things
I have complex feelings and logistics about staying at Threshold if I can't keep the animals
It takes about as long to recover from pottery as it does to forget the shapes of clay under my fingers
***
Writing a poem a day until Imbolc would be the equivalent of keeping the solstice fire through the dark. I barely managed that. Should I try this?