(no subject)

Turns out I still do want external things to look forward to, sometimes.

(no subject)

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?