I started feeling shaky as we walked to the library early in the week, just after the car failed its MOT so spectacularly we can't afford to repair it. This bright jewel of happiness, this one picture, is pretty much all the evidence that I had of my week until a few moments ago. I have been totally knocked out by illness and stress. I was tripping over my feet trudging home yesterday from an emergency appointment, antibiotics in hand, feeling like the universe is actually trying to kill me.
I feel whiny for "being negative" and fake for trying to find the beauty and light. Words are coming so slowly, each one replaced, deleted, re-written. I can't pour out everything without sharing things better not to say publicly. I can't *not* pour out everything without feeling inauthentic. I suppose all I can do is hold the space, and wait.