But it will be real. I am nothing if I am not real. 2020 thus far, has been one more in a series of debriding years. So much detritus I thought was me - gone. I am here now with half my life over and most of my dreams blown away. I'm not even sure what starting over looks like. Five years ago, starting over meant moving from the desert to the third coast to care for an aging beloved parent who was quirky, forgetful and mildly needy due to dementia. Right before Christmas, starting over meant putting a feral, neurotic, inarticulate 91 year old in a care facility after she split her head open in her own bedroom. (Side note: in March she tested positive for COVID 19. She'll celebrate her 92nd birthday in a couple weeks.) Seven months ago starting over meant starting a new job after two years of an hour commute. And then the accretion of start overs shifted into overdrive. My oldest and my only grandchild moved back to the 505. My business partner of five years stepped away from our indie publishing bit to pursue writing and other creative endeavors - leaving me with a book we were going to publish this fall. Now I'm "homeless" ... I keep taking a breath. I keep thinking. "Well, that was tough, but it gets better." But the truth is I have no clue what to do with my life right now. And if I dare write about it, it won't be pretty. But it will be real.
So here I am - in all my middle aged X'er angst. I'll write until the ink runs clear....because that is who I am.
