Day 48 - The House of Sand and Fog

The sun, all-white, dives through the blinds. My black cat, like a blanket, burns against my side. I am feeling low today, almost down, as I pour shredded wheat and cut the apples. What slows me today?

The book by my bedside that I pick up and read non-linear-like, speaks to me, "In life, there are periods of high energy, and then periods of low energy. Go with the flow. Do not fight the flow." So today, I let the air drag me. I flip through etsy things. I ignore the dishes.

Last night Dave handed me a piece of mail. My sister's clean writing graced the front of the square envelope. I knew what it was immediately, and felt the lump forming in my throat. When I pulled the pink baptism invitation for my little niece Nova out of its white paper sleeve, the tears rolled down my cheeks. I ran my fingers over the lettering, detailing my godchild's baptism. Dave watched me with concern.

Defeated, I could barely breathe as I looked into my lap and said, "I wish we could BE there."

"I know," he said quietly.

This afternoon, painting fixed me a bit (just a little little bit). I felt sad enough to work the colors slowly. I brushed in the tree and washed out the bright pink flowers. Water fell out of the sun. I sense I've finished my emotional abstraction. Just a couple more blots and some varnish.

Doesn't everything looks better with a thick layer of gloss.