...a little bit of this, and a little bit of that...
...a journey through my ups and downs...
All in all, 2014 was beautifully and wonderfully life changing. Today I took a moment to open my gratitude jar, look through all the notes, and relive the joy.
a year of gratitude
I am smiling.
And so the jar, now empty, is ready to capture the joys of 2015. It’s off to a beautiful start, and with this start, a new word to focus or define the year. I’ve found my word for 2015.
A S S U R A N C E
Today is a be still kind of day for me. What a treasure! Some people want or need to be entertained, or constantly on the go, doing something, going somewhere, being with someone. I get so few moments to just be still. I sit in silence in my living room, looking at the ceiling, looking at the sky through the skylights, looking at the colors and placement of the furnishings and decor, breathing deeply and simply being peaceful. It’s a friendly room. It’s nice to just be still for a moment. I have a thousand things I could or should do, but I’m not going to. I’m just going to sit still for a little while.
I love my cedar ceiling. Love!
~*~*~*~
I find it tragically amusing that I posted in October about not falling apart, when I realized yesterday that I’ve fallen more apart than I had any idea! I’m glad that I can amuse myself, even if it’s in a tragic manner. Imagine the amusement I can attain when I’m rockin’ my world! My core, the essence of me, always wants to find the light and bright side of things. It may take me a while, but I’m always looking for it.
~*~*~*~
I’ve been thinking about perspective. It’s so easy (for me) to be caught off guard and lose perspective. I can get stuck wondering what I did or said that caused a given action or comment, and jump to some conclusion that may or may not be valid. Or else I can’t come up with an answer at all, and I am completely flummoxed. In my professional life, when I get stuck trying to solve something, usually if I drop it for a while, rest, and come back again with fresh eyes, I can figure it out. I will then chastise myself for not dropping it earlier, thus saving myself the time, anguish and frustration of beating my head against the wall. In my personal life, if I could at least remember to tell myself that problem solving is problem solving, and if I could remember that it always works well to just let it rest for a minute, allow myself to regroup, then clarity will more than likely follow shortly. If only. I sure would save myself unnecessary anguish.
~*~*~*~
There has been a lot of passion and agitation floating about regarding Ferguson, and I don’t know anything about the issue, other than some people I love are passionately impacted in one direction and some people I love are passionately impacted in the opposite direction. I have absolutely no opinion because I don’t know the situation, but my heart aches and strains over the anguish and passion that others are struggling with over this very public issue. Politics. I can not abide. The mere thought causes literal gut wrenching sensations. It’s visceral. Absolutely and completely.
~*~*~*~
Loose ends. I have such a strong desire for conclusions, answers, solutions, closure –understanding. Maybe that’s the bottom line. Understanding. For some reason, loose ends leave me feeling frustrated and incomplete. It’s probably an OCD thing. Sort of like writing a sentence and not using a period to punctuate the end. That would drive me NUTS! The thing is, it drives me bonkers in almost all elements of my life. If a conversation just drops off in thin air, with no apparent reason why, I’m left wondering why. I suppose it boils down to order vs. chaos. A loose end represents chaos in my world. A conclusion represents order. With understanding, closure, conclusion, summary, completion, whatever it is called, I can put whatever it is away, and it will no longer clutter my mind and emotions.
~*~*~*~
Sometimes the accumulation of loose ends and lost perspective cause me to doubt myself, and I get turned around, upside down. When this happens, I have to somehow retreat and regroup. It’s so hard to do, when you’re stuck! Sort of like trying to swim against the current. I visualize myself, a lone figure, and I visualize myself spinning, arms spread, spinning around and around, sending waves of light, love, comfort, and harmony out from my extended hands, weaving a tornado of protection around me. I stand in the center of stillness and catch my breath and gather my strength until I can emerge. As I describe this, it brings to mind a scene from Guardians of the Galaxy in which Groot weaves himself into a cocoon of protection around his friends. Like that.
~*~*~*~
I really should never doubt myself. I should be more vigilant and remember, always remember, that I am empathic and absorb the emotions of those around me. So often I get slammed by other people’s emotions, and it takes me some time to realize those aren’t MY emotions. Those feels I feel, yes, but those feels aren’t always mine! Empathy is a beautiful gift, and I truly love my ability to connect with people on such a deep level, but I just need to learn how to distinguish my feels from someone else’s feels. I suppose that’s the thing about empathy though. Those feels become my feels. Oh, the feels. All the feels!! I am so often battered by the feels, like ocean waves crashing against a rocky shore.
~*~*~*~
Finding joy. Gratitude. It’s the simple things in life that bring me the most joy. I grew some vegetables this year. I planted multicolored carrots, and yielded only two. Two! The beets did well. I love beets. I also grew a mystery vegetable. At first I thought it was a pumpkin, but it turns out it was an acorn squash. I don’t even remember ever having squash, because I don’t like squash, but somehow it ended up in the compost, and when I built my garden, I added some compost. That particular seed sprouted and thrived, so I decided to let it live. It actually completely overtook the entire garden box, and produced several squash. The slugs ate most of them, but it yielded one respectable squash.
garden bounty
I decided to take my end of season garden yield and make roasted veggies for my contribution to the Thanksgiving feast. I roasted garlic and used fresh thyme and rosemary from my herb garden, and made a buttery spread. I had an inordinately grand time, gathering the veggies from my garden, cleaning, prepping, and cooking them. It felt so complete! So wholesome! And believe it or not, the squash actually tasted good to me. Wonders shall never cease.
roasted and color coordinated
~*~*~*~
I’ve been struggling quite a lot lately. I mentioned tragic amusement above… Anyway, I’ve been thinking of all the various monumental life changes taking place, contributing to the struggle. Work. That’s a huge change. The transitional dust most likely won’t be settled until at least next summer, so there remains quite a long road ahead. I need to gird up. Along with that, my niece, sort of the daughter I never had, graduated high school and moved across the country this fall. This had a much deeper effect on me than I had any idea, and I was completely unprepared for the emotions that would surface. Closing chapters of a long relationship, opening and closing and trying to navigate the waters of forming a new relationship leave me worn and depleted. Frustrations over the superficiality of people in the singles world. I see deep seated fears and insecurities in men manifest in various ways. They probably have no idea of these things themselves, because they are living only on the surface. But that’s a whole other probably very long winded post for another time. Countless hours spent in traffic. Darkness when I rise, darkness when I return. Single parenting struggles, wanting my children to grow into gracious, kind, responsible, confident, and respectable men, and not knowing quite how to accomplish that. The responsibilities of life. I have a full plate. It can be daunting and overwhelming if I think about it much. That’s why I like to slow down and be still. I get the most joy out of the simple things. I go outside and feed my alpaca girls, chastise them for fighting each other for the lion’s share, and wander around the pasture, picking up their poop. It’s therapeutic, really, to trudge about outside, rake and bucket in hand. The wind in the trees releases the most wonderful cedar scent. I feel happy. I am very blessed. I live a beautiful life. I am full of love. I love. I am loved.
happiness is a rake and a bucket and a pasture full of poop
I’ve written about ripples before, how one thing impacts another and waves move ever outward, the whispering breath of my spirit carried out into the world, brushing gently against all in its path. A kiss on the horizon that finds its way back to me.
There is a song that moves my heart. When I hear it, the strains fill me, move me, cover me, and touch my very soul. Everything about it speaks to me, as though it was written just for me. Not long ago, I mentioned this song in conversation, and remarked that it’s one of my favorites. It comes up on my Pandora mix every once in a while, and it almost always makes me cry. It just takes me to that place. The other day, a friend shared this very song on Facebook, especially for me. That ripple had made its way back to me.
Late at night, after the kids had gone to sleep, I sat cradled in the hammock swing on my porch, breathed in the crisp autumn air, and listened. Over and again, I played that song. Tears fell. I went inside the music, and sobbed, from the very core of me, releasing my self from myself. I thought about my life, and who I am. I thought about what I want. I thought about love, what it is, and where it comes from. I thought about my place in this earth, the mother I am, the life I lead, the responsibilities I shoulder. All the while, the music played, and tears rolled down my face.
I sobbed my heart out, and decided that it really doesn’t matter if the man who fits ever appears, because I’m beautiful through and through, in my heart of hearts where beauty matters. In that place, I am pure and innocent, and in that place I am love. It’s not about all the men who have gone before. It’s not about anything but me. In that place, I see my self. I see someone who is worthy of my love. I stood naked in front of my mirror, while the music played. I touched myself. I moved my hands all over my body, slowly, looking at the curves and the shadows, looking through unveiled eyes at something beautiful, as tears rolled down.
I must have listened to that song thirty times or more. I cried my heart out, and touched myself, looked at myself with respect and regard, all the while loving myself. I know who I am. I saw myself, maybe for the first time, for the beautiful woman that I am. I saw myself, perhaps, as those who love me see me.
A small spark flickered inside of me; a glimmer of life reborn. Tears streamed down my face and I knew.
when oceans rise
I am healing. I can heal.
Lead me where my trust is without borders.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.
I will call upon your name.
Keep my eyes above the waves.
My soul will rest in your embrace.
I am yours and you are mine.
When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.
Fifteen, twenty, twenty five years, or more –scars from so very long ago. I am healing. God is speaking to me in ways that most people wouldn’t understand, in ripples and waves that make their way back to me. I see where I am, and where I am going. It likely won’t make sense to anybody but me, but it doesn’t have to. This is my journey. I am going to walk down this healing path for a while.
I am not afraid.
I am not alone.
I took my boys to visit my mom over spring break. We had a lovely time. As we prepared to leave for the airport, my mom, her husband, and I were loading the bags into her car. I was leaning over the open trunk with my suitcase, and suddenly the trunk hatch dropped and hit my neck. I say suddenly, but time seemed to slow down in those moments, and there seemed nothing sudden about it. I saw the hatch descending. I knew what was happening and I knew that there was no time to avoid it. The corner of the lid came down directly on my jugular vein. In those few seconds, so very many things happened, and so very many thoughts crossed over and through my mind.
There was some commotion as my mom and her husband realized what had happened. Her husband felt somehow responsible, when there was no cause for blame or fault. I’m not sure if they understood the gravity of what was taking place, though. Meanwhile, I placed my hand on my neck, feeling for blood. At the same time, I assessed the corner of the lid, to determine whether it was a sharp corner or a smooth corner, and whether it was ragged, jagged or rusty. It was a slightly smooth corner, which increased my odds of survival. A sharp corner could have made a more acute injury. I was still feeling for blood, and I considered all my first aid training. I renewed my CPR and first aid certification last month, so the information was relatively fresh. How long does it take to bleed out? How long does it take to call 911? How long would it take for responders to arrive?
I concluded that if the vein had been pierced, I had roughly three minutes left to live. I also concluded that it would be pointless to call 911 (yet) and that my mom and her husband would be overly traumatized by any action they would need to take. I took it calmly. I thought about my boys. I thought, what a shame for it to happen this way. A freak accident, and that’s that. That’s the thing about freak accidents. They happen unexpectedly. I wasn’t afraid of the dying process. If I had three minutes, how would I spend those three minutes? I had a deep sense of peace and calm. No regret. Nothing at all mattered. At least, none of the things that I would have thought would matter, mattered –whether my house was in order, whether my paperwork was in order, whether my finances were in order, whether my work was in order. There are so many details about dying that one can burden oneself with. The thing is, if life is over, none of that stuff matters. Of course it would be sad and difficult for those who survived me, to have to go through my things and sort out my business. But none of that went through my mind in those moments. Those things were of no concern to me. If those were my last three minutes, I was glad that I was with my mom and my boys. There was no time for anything other than to just love them for the moments remaining.
Calm acceptance. I think that best describes the moment. Calm acceptance, peace, and a wash of love. I’m surprised that I didn’t feel horror that my boys would witness their mother’s tragic demise. After the fact, when I think about this sort of thing, I am terribly horrified that my boys would ever see or experience such a thing. But at that moment, it wasn’t in the realm of things that mattered.
I had a sudden, deep appreciation for the fragility of life, and the gift of life. It’s truly a gift, to be given the opportunity to spend a lifetime, however short or long, on this planet. There are so many things that distract me from savoring the joy of every breathing moment. The stresses of life. It’s such a crime to be overtaken by these stresses and allow them to rob me of my joy.
…shaking my head…
So. No blood. At least, no gushing wound. Phew. I was deeply relieved, but still concerned. I wondered if the vein had been bruised or otherwise structurally damaged. I was about to fly home, and wondered about the effect of pressure changes on a compromised artery. I know that deep vein thrombosis is a concern for some, when flying. I wondered if there was a chance that something catastrophic would happen, and thought to myself, “I’m not out of the woods yet.”
Thankfully, no puncture, no rupture, no clot (that I’m aware of). It’s only a surface wound. Thank God.
Close, but no cigar.
close, but no cigar
As always, I wish that I could cling to the epiphanies that I have and not allow the daily struggles to cloud my perspective. I want my boys to grow up well and safe. I want to raise them. *I* want to. Me! I want to live life and value life. I want to treasure every moment.
Now that the frightful moment is passed, I am grateful, GRATEFUL, that there was no tragedy, that my mother and her husband and my children were spared a traumatic and gruesome experience. I am glad that I get to live another day. I also wonder how many chances we get. How many close calls do we experience that we are not even aware of?
Life is a gift –a beautiful, glorious privilege.
I am so very glad for it.
shades of blue
Poppy held to her decision and severed all ties with George. One day, when she’s had sufficient time to heal, she may mourn him properly, but at this stage, she just doesn’t have the mental or emotional capacity. Steve arrived abruptly, with George’s sudden departure. It’s all been quite a shock, really. Poppy and Steve have been getting to know one another, as cohabitants do. I wouldn’t call it a romance, by any stretch of any imagination. It’s more like an arrangement. Of necessity. Oh sure, she did jump into forever with him. And she really does want to have a long and comfortable relationship with him. Happily ever after, in fact. Right now, however, it’s either sink or swim, and sinking is hardly an option.
In one sense, Poppy’s been very stable. Oh, occasionally something will happen and she will have a momentary lapse of sanity in which she behaves erratically, but those moments are few and generally last no more than an hour. In general, she’s been feeling very good.
That being said, life with Steve has been a cautious, tip-toeing dance, for the first few weeks. Steve seems to be a sensitive sort, and has his own idiosyncrasies. For instance, he does not like to be rushed. How can I say that, in such a way as to express it properly? He. Does. NOT. Like. To. Be. Rushed. And he’s a bit of a moody, broody sort. So he likes to handle certain things on his own terms, and as long as one complies with his terms, there is harmony in the land. Okay, so be it. This is part of learning to live together. Everyone’s got their own personal boundaries that need to be respected. Steve, bless his soul, is very clear about expressing his boundaries. Poppy could stand to take a page from that book.
As the weeks progress, Poppy has also begun to notice that there may be some areas in which Steve and George are very similar. She’s choosing not to overreact to this knowledge, but to take heed and reflect on it. The last thing she wants is to encourage any of these tendencies. So she’s keeping a close watch on this Steve character. Watching him like a hawk, even.
~*~*~*~
Installment 2 of the Poppy Saga.
Characters:
Poppy the pancreas.
George who likes to gorge.
Steve the sleeve.
~*~*~*~
It’s been just about 4 weeks since surgery, and I’m doing very well. The first 2 weeks are liquids only, and the next two weeks are soft foods. It’s a bit challenging, learning to eat anew. It’s probably similar to what babies go through, as they are learning to eat. Things like the size of each bite and how much it must be chewed before swallowing are critically important. The steri-strips have finally worn off the incision sites, and the scars remaining are slight. I’ve had a bit of a struggle with waves of depression, off and on. I also notice that I tire easily, and I’ve been respecting this by allowing myself to rest when I need it.
I will say this much. I loathe (ab.so.lute.ly loaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaathe) protein powder. When I’ve finished the tub that I have, I will never buy another. Ever. EVER.
That being said, it’s such a relief, not to be hungry! It’s also a tremendous delight to look at a small portion of food and know that it can and will be filling and fulfilling (although obtaining sufficient nutritional intake is definitely a challenge). All in all, it’s a very exciting journey. I feel liberated, and I am looking forward to finding and restoring bits and pieces of myself that have been lost through the years, as I progress through this excavation.
I hope to do a better job than all the king’s horses and all the king’s men did with Humpty Dumpty.
Poppy and George have been together for a long time. Forever, even. They got along well enough when they were younger, but as the years passed, they lost touch of each others’ needs. It’s not unheard of…
George is pretty much a self-centered bastard. He’s generally ignorant of Poppy’s ups and downs. Granted, her ups and downs are far more pronounced as the years go by. Oh, sure, every once in a while he says he’ll do better, be better, turn over a new leaf, and he he may do a fine job of being on his best behavior for a while. But only for a while. It never lasts, and bit by bit, they find themselves back in that desert place where neither can tolerate each other. George wants to do what George wants to do. Poppy reacts. It’s not that Poppy wants to react. It’s just that her defenses have eroded after so many years of hiding behind the issues. She starts to feel better when George plays nice, and she starts to think that everything is just swell, and things are getting back to the way they used to be, back when they were young. But it doesn’t take long for reality to slap her in the face. Because sooner or later, George will fall back into his selfish ways.
I don’t know why that is. It just is. I don’t think George wants to be a self-centered bastard. I think he would want to be better, in a perfect world. There are probably a million factors that contribute to the entity that George has become. A lifetime of factors.
It’s complicated.
Be that as it may, George is George. Poppy is Poppy. It’s clear that something has to change, or nothing ever will. They will continue living a marginal existence until they do each other in. Literally.
It’s a scary choice, in many ways, for many reasons, but Poppy has decided that George has got to go. Poppy has high hopes that she will be able to find her stable place again, that she will feel good all the time, and that she will find her old self. She hopes that she will no longer feel like she’s wasting her life, but instead like she’s embracing and living her life. Loving her life!
It may seem harsh to send George packing, but at this point, it’s the only solution. This limbo has been going on for over twenty years. It will continue another twenty years if nothing changes, or if they don’t kill each other in the process.
Goodbye George.
She wonders if she will be so fickle as not to ever miss him or regret that she made him go. She can hardly think about it, though. It’s just too much.
~*~*~*~
Installment 1 of the Poppy Plight.
Characters:
Poppy the pancreas.
George who likes to gorge.
Steve the sleeve.
~*~*~*~
So I’m preparing for bariatric surgery. I start my pre-op liquid diet on Friday (4 Oct 2013). This is not a trigger decision. I’ve contemplated it for YEARS and after much research and thought have decided to move ahead with it. Surgery is 14 Oct 2013. I will have the better part of my stomach removed, leaving all my digestive plumbing intact. This is called a Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy (VSG). This surgery will allow me to eat, but not overeat. My body will still absorb the nutrients I ingest. I’m very much looking forward to feeling satisfied after eating a normal amount of food. I stumbled across a blog in which a ‘sleever’ named her sleeve, and thought that was clever. Also, putting character names to my organs helps me inject a little humor, or at least look at it from another angle. Because it’s scary. And it’s permanent. So I thought it might help me as I embark on this journey. Although weight and self image factor heavily toward this decision, the driving factor is the fact that I can no longer play the ignorance card regarding diabetes. I have it. It’s very clear that my pancreas is not functioning as it should, and that my blood sugar control is erratic. I have proven to myself that it can be controlled, but I have also to be honest with myself and know that I fall to the same patterns, no matter how vigilant I am, or for how long. Eventually I slip back. Hello, my name is George. I’m on a life-changing journey. I’m taking steps to make dramatic and permanent changes to improve my life. This is one of those steps. So goodbye, George. It’s time for you to go.
How’s that for a title?
I had quite a bit more stuff written here, blah blah blah, but I think the title pretty much sums it up.
a bit morbid, yet a bit brilliant, and a bit apropos as well
be still my bleeding heart
My life has been a road of many twists and turns. The paths I’ve traipsed over the past few years have led me to face some of the most arduous challenges of my life. I’ve made hasty, monumental decisions. I’ve put myself into difficult situations. Backed myself into corners. Wasted time, wasted money, wasted emotions, wasted life itself. I could say, “Hello, my name is Regret.” But I won’t. No, because I’ve been thinking about the wasted time, the wasted money, the wasted emotions.
I’ve been thinking about the ripples. All the ways that lives have changed because of the roads I’ve traversed. Good things come! Good things happen! It’s absolutely concrete. While I could say that I wish I never wasted so much of my life chasing a mythical love, and I might wish I’d never said those two fateful words (“I do”), I have two vibrant and beautiful testaments to the perfection of that journey right before me. Every day I am blessed by the wonder of these two human beings entrusted to my care. And they would not be, had I not walked down that particular path. And since then, for all the painful twists and turns that follow divorce, I can see how other people’s lives have changed for the better, all because our lives intersected at some point along that path. This isn’t to say that I take credit for anything; it’s only to say that providence allowed me to be in a particular place at a particular moment in which I could (and did) do something that would (and did) help another.
It’s real. It’s tangible. I can name names.
A child in Bali. A village in Cambodia. A single mother with two young children. A battered wife. A young mother with four children. A woman. A family. A man (or two, or three, or seven, not that anyone’s counting). If I even start to dwell on why or how I am here , in this country house so far from the madding crowd, I can turn my thoughts to any one of these people and quiet my anxious heart. I don’t care how much money is gone. I don’t care how many days, months, years have passed. I don’t care how many tears I’ve cried. Lives have changed! Even one of these would be well worth any of the suffering I’ve put myself through. I won’t dwell on the pain. I won’t entertain regret.
True, I’ve been losing myself all along the way, bit by bit, so that I don’t even recognize myself any more. I do wish I’d been vigilant from the start and given my self greater care. I’m recognizing this now, and slowly but surely I am taking steps to restore myself to my self. I’m going through the fire. The refiner’s fire. I’m going to be shiny and bright, when I get back to me.
Hello, my name is Hope.
I’m glad for this journey.
I am happy to bid adieu to 2012. I would say that 2012 took me for a ride, but it would be more honest to say that I let 2012 take me for a ride. I could call it the ride of a lifetime. Woohoo! Put a bright spin on it. A ride indeed. I think I may have experienced some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life in good ‘ole 2012.
It’s all good, really. My life is full. My children are happy and healthy. We have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and warm beds to sleep in.
There is beauty and wisdom in all things, no matter the circumstance. It just takes a certain perspective to be able to see it.
I won’t say that losing one’s children to the slaughter of a mad man has any beauty in it, but the shock and the horror force (some of) us to take note of our family circles, be more vigilant, hold our children more, and be more grateful for every little moment, and embrace it all. Even when we’re at our wits end and drowning in frustration. All these things are trifles. I want to drink it all in. Treasure. Every. Moment.
The time that the children are children is fleeting. I blinked my eyes and see so many of my nieces and nephews and my friends’ children are already grown. Grown! Where did the years go?
My hair is turning (more) gray. My skin is starting to show its wear.
Professionally, I did well in 2012. I had some lofty goals and I had actually admitted defeat to myself as well as my boss that it was unlikely that I’d be able to finish the super project before the end of the work year. I pressed on, and somehow (by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth) I did it! I felt like a superstar, and it was a great sense of accomplishment. I don’t think it really mattered much to anyone but me, that I finished by the deadline, but it did matter to me, and I was/am pleased with myself –pauses to pat self on back. I suppose I ought to acknowledge that being a superstar for a moment barely compensates for all the days that my performance was distracted and disjointed from the emotional fray that I was buried in for the better part of the year.
Spiritually I’ve had some growth in 2012. Not the sort of growth that a mainstream Christian might acknowledge or agree with, but I’ve learned some things and for that I’m grateful. I thought that I wanted to settle into a church family, but realize that I’m truly not drawn that way. I love the people, I love the worship. But I belong to a church that is not made with hands, and that church is my home, wherever I am. I don’t hunger for the company of a congregation, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I am a child of God.
This year has been a rough ride for me emotionally. I’ve endured much. I’ve made my loved ones endure much. I tried so very hard to do more than I am able to do. Like that image of a circus performer spinning plate after plate after plate. I had so many plates spinning, but I just couldn’t keep it up, and they all came crashing down. Lord, how I tried. I gave it a good shot, though!
Physically, the twists and turns and ups and downs have taken their toll. Whereas I’ve maintained my weight for most of the year, the past few months have seen a dramatic change in overall physical well-being. From the moment that I made the decision to re-find myself, I’ve put on weight and my blood sugar has climbed. Something’s got to give, I suppose. I’m trying not to panic. I’m attempting to take it in stride and breathe deeply, knowing that things will settle once I get a stronger grip on the emotional side of my life.
So where am I now? I don’t really know. In transition, I suppose. I’m not settled. I’m not where I want to be. But I’m changing and standing faithfully where I need to stand. I tell myself not to be afraid. I tell myself that everything will be okay. And it is.
adieu 2012
