“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down.” ~ Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

My days unfold with a consistent pattern, my disposition and mood changing as the hours pass. I think of new projects I might start, getting away from the drooling words and emotions that come from where? I am not sure. I think about perimeters to make me accountable, I think about just doing. I ponder why and how I arrived where I am, wishing I was a poet or maybe a chef. The love I feel unfurls at times, taking over all common sense, only to close back up tightly for protection. I spend hours trying to find my way through others experiences, stepping onto the paths others have followed, only to lose more of myself.

I think it is time to inhabit my own life.