Saturday, December 17, 2016
With The Bear buried, the funeral finished, the winter gone white with wonder, it's time to plot my next moves. Square one, blank canvas, open door all wait for some movement, some indication of intent. Even Simone the cat looks at me with her feline expectation of " 'sup dude?" I'm still heavy with sadness and I cry at the end of "Call the Midwife." What good is that? Time to shake off the lead, boil away the mental mush, drain the colander of excess drama and get my sorry ass off the chair and into motion. It doesn't matter so much what I do as it does that I do something. This whole create-out-of-whole-cloth living is new. I don't quite know how to do it, especially the strange prospect of being happy. How does somebody do that? One step at a time, Glasshoppah, one step at a time.