The first six weeks of the semester went well; I've been making strides dealing with the busy-ness of being back at school--with a teaching overload to boot-- preparing for upcoming gigs, and have even entered into a tentative agreement with a publisher to write a textbook. Work has been a solace. My dad taught me the values of working hard, not letting shit get you down; but now I wonder if I've been avoiding some unfinished emotional work.
In fact, I'm sure of it.
I led a finely choreographed dance and the balance of things was on the point of a needle. And I've either been pierced by it or at the very least, tipped off it.
Amidst the stress of re-entry into academia, I am now, apparently, going through some new phase of the grieving process. It feels like it's happening all over again. That damned car accident two weeks ago was the thing that did it. It jolted me back into reality. It created a vortex into which I have plummeted; at least temporarily.
There is a transition in the works for me and I believe it's life-changing. Everything is swirling and I want to stay mindful to get the Universal message as it is sent me. What happens if I can't figure it out? I'm frustrated because I don't understand what's happening inside me.
Time to refocus, rebalance--the emotional work is ongoing, and I need to respect that. But there are only so many hours in the day. I asked the Universe for a Time Out and got the bug floating around my department. Nice sense of humor, there ;oP
Home sick for part of this week, I looked around and realized my house is stuck, too--I can't move anything, clear anything. We are frozen in time. Nothing has changed at my place since Christmas. To move even the mail recognizes the enormity of my loss and my inability to move forward. And yet there is a profound urge pushing me--driving me--from the inside out. This internal dilemma is making me sick, ruining my sleep, and causing my fibromyalgia to flare. Anxiety is through the roof. While this is definitely a wake up call, can *this* the push I've been waiting for? And if so, what the hell do I do about it? I loved my father. I don't know how to move on.
So many questions. So much unrest. I am befuddled and a little discouraged.
About Me
- Catherine
- In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.
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