Well. . .
Pausing for Some Poetry

On Unraveling

Yesterday, I thought about putting together an Unraveled post.

And then I didn't.

After a significant amount of reflection, I realized . . . it's ME . . . who's come unraveled.


(Drawing by Charlie Mackesy and picked up via his Instagram post. You can find more about him and see more about his work here. You can follow him on Instagram here.)

For weeks now, I've been out of sorts.
In a Mood.
A Funk.
Worn down.
Sick. Of. This. Shit.

It's not the "staying at home" part. Because I'm okay with that, really. I mean, I'm an introvert anyway, so it's been easy for me to adapt to just . . . not going anywhere.

I've unraveled . . . because of the ALL of it.

The lack of a coordinated response to the pandemic.
The politics of Every. Stinking. Thing.
The lack of kindness and compassion and empathy.
The ugliness of people.
The misplaced trust and the telling of lies.
The stupid-ness. (Really, it's the stupid-ness.)

(I think the secret police thing, though? I think that was the last straw for me.)

I unraveled.

I lost hope.

So. I've been taking some time to sort through a whole lot of feelings. Trying to work my way out of a good, old funk. Trying to find my flow (be like water, my friend). Trying to get back to what grounds me (I'm rooted, but I flow).

But, oh my. What a struggle it is.

I've been pulling a lot of weeds and escaping to the lake and balancing my chakras and working out and meditating and doing yoga every damn day and reading poetry and knitting silly little things and journaling. And I think I might be finding my way back. Or . . . beginning to. I'm sleeping better (which helps a lot). I'm ignoring (most of) the news. And I'm starting to think about blogging again.

I'm still having a hard time finding hope. (But I'm feeling like I can begin searching again.)

So. That's where I am.


But ready to re-wind.