Lonely, but not in abject
horror like last year, still wondering what the hell am I going to do now.
My way is to stroke for what I want, stroke hard and keep stroking away. It serves me well. We, my
husband and I, had a fine life.
Floundering, the byproduct
of not knowing where you want to go, is better than last year, but who likes it?
Detours feel like normal
changes in course, but going round in circles sucks.
Yes, I know Kirt wouldn't want me to:
Be unhappy
Feel lost
Not give a shit.
Until I find new purpose,
that’s the way it is. Only I can find my purpose. So far nothing seems to be
working out.
Filling my life with the
pleasures of parties, shopping, beaches, and jazz is poor substitute for what I've lost. I’d feel embarrassed about whining, if I wasn't so serious.
Passion for pursuits, causes
or just interests ruled my adult life after a childhood of be quiet and stay
out of the way, try not to get hit. On balance feeling blessed about life, I am
not complaining; no, I just lost my husband. I am complaining.
Being open to the universe is one thing, but sitting on the mountainside waiting for it to happen is hard; or is it foolish?
As my honey used to say, “Do
something, even if it is wrong.”
Figuring out what that is
will be better, if I didn’t feel desperate. Let me just take a deep breath and
enjoy the rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment