I’m still here. Barely functioning, but here. I won’t make excuses. There are none. I simply haven’t decided whether taking time to write every day is something I want to do. I haven’t found the thread in my writing that makes it matter.
I’m looking for the same thread in my life. Same result.
Still, I haven’t forgotten this blog space is here, waiting for me should I ever find my way back to that person who started it. I’m far off course at the moment, lost in a forest. I wake in the middle of the night in a panic that my life is only this and that I will never find my way. That it’s too late for me. I haven’t accomplished anything yet, so why pretend I ever will?
I go through the motions of life. I shower. I dress. I clean the house and decorate it for the holidays. I function. But the connection I want to feel to something greater than this, grander than my little life, that connection eludes me. Nothing matters.
I don’t matter.
I think I got tired of writing about that, because writing usually makes me think and feel. Lately, I’d rather not do either.
I’ll just be. Whatever I am in this moment. Still here.