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I’m still here, just digging out of a heavy hole.
I know I still have two part twos of stories to share, which are coming (i sold everything and moved downtown | PART 1 + what i didn't tell you | part 1).
Plus stories upon stories that I need to tell you.
Life is a trip, y’all. Like, in all the most joyful and painful ways.
I often wonder how I got here.
Divorced. Almost 48. Single mom of two kids with mental illnesses. Single.
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Yes, I said single twice.
I hate being single.
At the same time, I’ve become so comfortable that my children, cats, and plants have been pretty damn life-fulfilling.
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But, I dunno.
It’s hard doing this gig alone.
It’s hard not having a safe hug to sob in.
It’s hard not feeling a full-proof sense of safety.
It’s hard.
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