Day 300.

Three hundred days!!!!




. . . of hair.

Day 299.

So imperfect, so nervous, so needy.

Trying to remember the important things, like I am not my job and I am not what other people think of me. Also the important things in the positive direction - I am talented, I am kind, I am funny, I am attractive.

Just a stumbly little human, kickin' rocks and trying to find good buddies to walk with.

Day 298.

Day 297.

Home again.

A room overstuffed
With too many reminders
Of a me long-gone
Transformed
Skin having regenerated entirely
Thousands of times over.
I am at my core, the same.
But different than the person who collected these things
Packed them into colorful bags with broken zippers
Trucked them across borders
Folded them neatly and placed them into blue plastic tubs
With hard lids that snap into place
Or slipped them carefully between wine glasses wrapped in newspaper
To absorb the shock my clumsy body would surely inflict.
Things purchased at weird little shops and Guatemalan markets
Because something about them felt like me
Seemed to sing to others who I am and wish to be
And on display, tell the story of who I've been and who I will become.
But where is that story now? And to whom will it be told?
Are things ever the vehicle? The way to tell that which the heart and hands and voice and body can tell so much more efficiently?
Is it worth it, lugging around these things?

Day 296.

Sick and lonely and trying to pretend this will be the one year I don't experience depression all the way through the holidays. Could use a little love.

Day 295.

Day 294.

Thankful for lots of things, but really appreciating the uncomplicated relationships I can have with non-humans lately.