In the last several months my life has been busy tying up loose ends for me, and I have been desperately busy trying to keep my hands out of the way.
The job I love turned into the job that I hate and in two days it will be the job I used to have, and I am grateful to see it go.
My grandmother died, and my grandfather was left alone after 70 years of marriage. He immediately lost most of what was left to him, and for the six months until he died, too (hands and jaw clenched, never gently), I spent much of my free time trying to find him something to live for until he could stop being afraid of death and the rest of my free time crouching as close as I could get to the *other* things I love, recovering. It was a very valuable experience, and I paid for it.
5 days after the funeral, I will get in the car and we will move halfway across the country (Denver), where we will hopefully find a place to live and new jobs and enough sunshine to bake myself flat in a single sitting.
And then maybe I can hear the poetry again.
I'm only mentioning it,
, because your journal woke up the fierce need to write that has been laying in a puddle of its own fluids for so long. You do talk too much, but it turns out that's always what I liked best about you.