February 15th, 2014


This has been a night like no other because I stayed inside. Very early,
as the sun was setting, I, having found myself unable to get out of bed
for the duration of the day, decided to at least learn something, so I set
about the work of learning the history of Gestalt psychology. This was
good until my eyes grew tired so I looked up a video and listened to a man
who looks very much like a man at my church whom I trust, speak on his
theory and practice. This immediately put me to sleep, not because it was
boring, but because it was so soothing, the sound of the sureness in his voice.
I dreamed of falling asleep in places I was not supposed to and sleepwalking
the streets around my house. Eventually I rose, took a bath, and cleaned my
room. I composed many sentences I would like to send in a letter to Alain, and
I will, but when? When will I find the voice I need to recount the horrors and
glories that have been my life over the last two years? I have only the strength
to offer one flower, but it is a whole garden blooming over that I must present.



February 14th, 2014

Everything hurts, but surprisingly, given the day, it's not emotional. I'm certainly not the most comfortable I've been emotionally - saw someone tonight whom I have acted so strangely around
that I could find no words and so pretended not to know him. I walked into West Hartford today to get guitar strings. The walk was a long negotiation with the ice on the sidewalks. And, even though my body ached from this flu, even though there was an emptiness next to me that I didn't know how to articulate, I kept smiling because the sun was so bright and the puddles were so deep and the music in my ears was so pleasing. As I walked onto main street I was reminded of the man I met once in the starbucks one street over. Excuse me he said, I have worked in the entertainment industry for my whole life, and though I am retired now, I have the eye for it still. Your face is stunning. Your face is the face of movie stars. What bone structure. You must do something with your face. So I did. I blushed furiously and clutched my coffee. I also took his words and placed them over the raw parts of my heart, the places where I had written "ugly" or "unacceptable" or "rejected" with a penknife. At the liquor store the handsome wine expert said you look good as a brunette, shyly, after looking at my I.D. in which I'm a blonde, and I felt those places pulse, and I realized how much healing had come.