Don’t Read This

It’s a “poor me” post.  I don’t like those myself. In the therapy group I was in (as a participant) we would always begin the meeting by describing how we feel, while acknowledging that most of us feel several different ways at the same time. I’m shedding a tear or two for me, which isn’t usual these days, so I know I’m feeling sad.  I feel like I’m  a number of uncooked hard peas on a flat plastic platter. The slightest tilt and I roll one way and then another, not falling entirely off the platter, but shifting off center  time and again.  I shouldn’t have told bloggers I’m old. No one wants to be tainted by old, but I’m still loyal to truth, or what seems to be truth.  I’m lonely and avoidant, not a happy combination.

I don’t want to fall into criticizing myself–I do enough of that. I write but realize that I can’t talk about what matters. I don’t know if that was always true.  Years ago I decided I won’t ever commit suicide. That frees me up not to even consider it.  Guess I’ll get back to my Ann Perry book.  The image above is my current screen saver.  Google says it’s from the brickwork site, but I got it by going to wood collages.  The tot was from an innocent world.

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
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