Every two weeks I sit in a small office and tell a gentle, motherly lady about my problems.
Which, the more I go, I realize just how lucky I am.
Not that I didn't know this already, but sometimes you forget, in the daily rush and press of life.
If nothing else comes of these sessions, at least I will come out of them knowing this: that the anticipation of events is what scares me; that I am strong and brave when it comes to actually doing things. I write down the things that scare me, and then I watch them crumble into dust when I face them head-on. A new job. A difficult person. Being broke. The future.
Right now, my mom is working with people who have been broken since they were kids. They are broken, and yet they build hope with what they have left to work with, and they carry on. They are lawbreakers, addicts, homeless, bipolar. In the shadow of their misfortunes I am speechless and grateful for the gifts I have: love, family, friends, work.
Tonight was the perfect Halloween night, as if all the planets had aligned: Saturday night, clear but slightly misty, and... (special bonus): Daylight Savings the next day. The streets were choked with freaks: bunnies, slutty nurses, witches, cowboys, monsters of all descriptions. The side streets echoed (and echo still) with firecrackers. It was as if the whole city had been saving up its zany party animal side for this one night. I threw off a long day of work, threw on some mad clothes I found in the dark corner of my closet, and headed out into the night to gulp red wine and eat too much sugar.
Too lucky to feel anything but happy on this night of spirits.
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