Mine’s a world where griffins fly. Mine’s a world where girls cry over seagulls sailing home, where girls become fairies because being girls isn’t quite enough. But it’s okay; mine’s world no one needs to understand.
Feeling thoughtful, feeling a little in-sane, as in strapped into sanity.
I was in another car crash just a few days ago. We lost our first car to a crash in December. But this crash was a jolt and a dent, a scrape and a sore back; our car’s still running. The young woman who hit us fared worse — the front of her car was all crushed in. But we all drove away alive. We were all strapped in, you see.
I’ve been letting another part of myself get dressed, put on make up, plan a haircut, even put in contacts I haven’t used in years, and wear ridiculously high wedge sandals. It’s okay because I’m more than one person, and it’s fun besides. I’m letting go a little and being everyone I want to be. But I hardly have time anymore. Part of me bursts out singing, part comes out to paint, part comes out to play. When I get a moment of focus I try to reply to emails and give readings — I do love to help and I’m sorry to make people wait.
Meanwhile I keep dreaming of wolves. What is the message? The wolves are fierce and I am always half-afraid. Once I made them submit by threatening them with my notebook, in which I’ve penned my truths. The fight, the mystery, and the dream never end.