This blog post is not addressed to any particular person but in general I feel like I am getting this energy of condolence sent my way and it boggles my mind at times.
I live my life and I write about it, detailing pieces, parts of stories.
I’m also superstitious – I’m probably not going to write about my good fortune — for example that I am doing *this* for a living and the road it took to get here. Is it perfect, all done, settled, nothing left to do? Of course not! But that’s not the point–
But I guess I just want to tell folks: I’m fine. Really. Things have never been better. I’m so grateful. I’m more than fine. I’m fucking overjoyed. Am I going to detail it all? Nope. That’s mine 🙂 I’m still a 12th House person even though I’m a writer for the collective (natal Mercury in my 11th House).
I tend to do this thing where I scan my psyche, looking for worries… but you know what? When you face reality and you take care of what you need to? You worry less. Because you’re *working on it*–
People’s response sometimes makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong — but no — there’s always that gap between what I write and what you read. And there’s always that gap between my experience and my writing about it and your perception and potential projection.
And I do write about some intense things but *my* experience of it is different than yours. My head is different than yours. Something may be devastating to you that isn’t devastating to me and vice versa.
So I’ll try not to fight it. And just accept it. But it’s hard to keep my mind from going huh? What are they talking about?? Why do they feel bad for me? Yikes! Should I write about *other things* ?
But no. Gotta write what I gotta write! That’s what writers do and that’s what I’ve always been.
What have you always been?