Day 26. I don't go out much usually. But somehow 'can't' is so very different from 'don't'. 'Can't' squashes me like a boot on a snail - not annihilated on a concrete path, but pushed into newly tilled earth, damaged, confused, disorientated, bewildered, not sure if I'll get out alive.
Mornings when I wake with sun streaming in the window - and then the boot stomps down. Afternoons in the garden doing my own stomping are better - planting and growing are acts of hope and belief in the future. Evenings are when I feel the most squashed, when life and tears ooze out of me quietly and puddle on the floor next to the cat's half eaten mouse.
Mornings when I wake with sun streaming in the window - and then the boot stomps down. Afternoons in the garden doing my own stomping are better - planting and growing are acts of hope and belief in the future. Evenings are when I feel the most squashed, when life and tears ooze out of me quietly and puddle on the floor next to the cat's half eaten mouse.
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