The thing I’m turning to, to sort through what I’m feeling….to stop my eyes from bleeding clear…is the same thing my grandmother loved to do. I just can’t stop thinking that she’s going to turn this around. It’s not time — it’s not time. But then there’s a part of me that tells me that I’m in denial.
Am I just blinded by hope, or, am I acknowledging that reality rules against me? Or do I not want my prototype (Peg 1) to be called home?
I do not know. *laughs* ahh.. It’s going to be a long week. And here I sat thinking that perhaps I was "doing" something by writing a book with her, or asking her to write a letter to the generations to come. I only wish that I got the recipes earlier…that I got the writing done…that she got to share in all the moments that haven’t happened yet — if his will *is* to call her home.
Then I begin to think about those moments, and realize that it can’t be done.. no matter what it looks like. Man, I feel SO conflicted.
In solitude, surrounded by people
I wish I could let my hair down…and I don’t want to go home..
But I don’t want to stay here.
I cough b/c I’m cold and I feel weird inside.
Then the peace comes and says why am I fighting.
Gideas doesn’t understand.
He’s never been through what I’m feeling, but empathises with my human emotion.
Ahhh! Lol. Peace flows like a flood right now.