It's been amazing to have this week off, I must say. Amazingly slow and easy. For the first time in ever so long I have been living at a Regular Pace instead of lurching back and forth on the Tilt-a-Whirl of my life, c. 2007. I went grocery shopping. I baked. I cooked. I played. I saw friends and family. I hung out with neighbors. I talked on the phone. I watched movies. I played with Clover. I crocheted for fun. I made things for Christmas. I read real books. W. O. W. It was, all of it, all good. I feel regular things seeping back into my life. I have missed them more than I can say. I have even missed myself, somehow. If that makes sense.
2007, you challenged me. 1998 and 1999 were not so easy, either, but 2007 you were different in subtler, more complicated, less visible ways; many times I fumbled, panicking and stressed. I was on the phone with an old friend I hadn't talked to in a while, telling her the story of the year, and at the end I just burst into tears, surprising and embarrassing us both. But then not, really. The tears felt like part of the story. My shoulders slowly lowered as I talked. I'd been carrying them up around my ears all year, sinews tensed and protective. There is so much I want to change about myself.
Santa, bring peace to my heart. Help me be an instrument of peace in all I do. That is my Christmas wish.
