time
One thing I've noticed is how making a cup of coffee can take an eternity. The synapses in my brain move like molasses. Last night over burritos, Mike said a group we really like is playing in SF in September when he has to be there for a meeting and I should come out. I smiled and then put my face in my hands and cried. I have nothing to say. Our walks are quiet except for his thoughts and the leaves rustling against one another. I want to hold and be held platonically, grow vegetables, be awake more in the mornings. I used to go back and comfort myself at various times, sending strength and hope from whatever present I was in. I wonder if my future self is sending me the emptiness now. If she is a failed buddha or a slow buddha, or a lotus blossom broken from her root. Maybe she's a fierce, no-nonsense warrior driving at me to get real.
Today I have one important task. I'm willing myself to do it. Relying on my future self. Not strong. Just quiet.