So I may be getting somewhere. I do feel a little choked up about chickening out at the parent coffee of the special needs camp, but in the past this would have led to despair, whereas now I simply chalk it up as fodder for a bluesy guitar solo or something. Life leads to emotions which leads to art. I can live with that.

I asked the universe in my dream word. No answer came except the conscious passing of pavement. An insistent buzz interrupted me. What? I could feel the frown forming, the confusion, the being pulled from dream to a buzzing phone. In a daze I reached for my phone and groggily answered without seeing who the caller was. Yes, hello? My voice croaked from early morning dryness. Tea and Sleep and Tiny Obsessions.

From the Church of the Toasted Coconut Doughnut. Letters to the Universe and Other Friends. End of Summer Blues and What Not. I feel this is an apt, if not a bit nebulous, metaphor for the current state of my inner life. For the good of living things, I am going to have to make a plan to claw my way back up to the air.

A great heap of uncertainty. Some of it of the steaming pooh variety. I am losing my mind. Travel, but not really. I was looking for something in my saved Xanga files the other day.

In my travels I found no answers, only wonders. She sits alone upon the stair. Golden highlights in her hair. Wearied head against the wall. To rouse herself to climb again. Takes the mettle she fears she lacks. Yet loathe she is to descend. Thus she sits upon the stair.