i'll let you know when i get there

What if, instead of becoming paralyzed whenever I think of starting to write more again, what if I just stop not  writing?  For some of the most important years of my life, I couldn't help but document.  The need hasn't gone anywhere.  It's been channeled and diffused, but I still feel compelled to slow living down in order to look at it and mold it... to see it instead of just experiencing it.  What if I got myself a little notebook?  The physicality of those little notebooks might have been the link that kept me red blood alive.   When I considered the disconnect between me and mom the other day (moments before drifting off, naturally), I felt a flash of fear that maybe she would give or throw away the crate of my journals and diaries that have been kept in her basemen for twenty years.  She's hinted at what a nuisance my storage has been for nearly as long... and has even given some of my old things away without asking.  Who's to say somed...

 What do mothers and daughters talk about?

When it starts to announce itself it is almost as if remembering an absence. It's startling really.  Stops you like a head cold.   oh yes, that's right- there is no point  An absolute miracle and utterly meaningless and we balance both, somehow.   All this filling of days and  charting of paths-  visions- finding people and letting them go- giving things away only to wonder where they went- and none of it able to withstand the force of one natural disaster or nasty cancer or coincidental encounter with a violent lunatic.   At the same time,  the idea of its going- that there is only one of every day  and that there are only so many days to experience at all. It's enough to celebrate and enough to mourn, enough to feel something- even to imagine a point or a choice. depressed or devastated? what day is today?