(no subject)

 Molasses slow evenings when the sun is just returning. Kissed daffodils yet chilled shade. 

Time to sort. Put things to rights. Unpacking the ratting. Or is it ratting the packing.

 

This spring system wide changes. A baby (I'ma be an auntie!). A down-sizing and selling the-house-on-the-lake. A jail sentence with ever bigger and badder coming-of-age reality. 

And me, in the midst of my own transition to midwife. The studies. The notes and tests and anxiety. The everloving compounded anxiety.  Shippy. Very very shippy.

 

My dining table, the one place of order I've clung to for years, has been covered by school, taxes, citizenship application, cracker crumbs, odds and ends. Today a samosa says, "I'm dinner." to its new friends; piles of notes. Unpacking the ratting.

 

Filing. 

 

Singing.

 

Patty Griffin - All Creatures of our God and King. I am slayed. Weeping, I stand with a torn past. The wind blows through from a time when all was the storm of existential angst. And true pain. True hurt. 

 

Here again. The table. The juice. The samosa. A home blend freshen-up spray (peppermint and geranium) mixed in an old Saje bottle. I like the Saje one, but spendy. 

 

Best be getting a move on and file this shhhtuff.

Tomorrow is a day for study...OSCEs on Wednesday.