… without any sense of having had a bad dream, or, that there was anything that happened to set this up over the past 24 hours … yet I woke with that feeling that I remember from childhood -- when you've cried all the tears away and are left with only dry sobs. Heaving spasms of grief that leave one with fatigue that only a long nap can begin to cure. The only hope for relief came with just ending this tragic day and waiting to begin another; exhausted.
Where is all this stored? I don't think I've had this feeling since the day when my dog, Buttons, disappeared never to return. It took years to recover from that one. I'm not sure I ever did, when I think of it.
There's another image; that of my most-beloved baby doll, Bobbie, thoughtlessly left out in the rain in her orange-crate crib in our packed-dirt roofless playhouse overnight -- and discovered by my older sister, Marjorie, with hopelessly blistered face and kapok-filled body bloated beyond hope of recovery. I couldn't have been older than six or seven at most.
Not only is it true that "children will listen," (thanks Stephen Sondheim) but children rarely forget, I suppose.
It was that kind of awakening. The storm has been building for days, as I can see in re-reading my most recent posts. Something is brewing -- and I know not what …
This promises to be the last busy week before a break.
This may be the first warning of something …
It may simply be that I'm tired and needing to recharge my batteries prior to upcoming fall events, and if so, a few days in Mendocino may be all that is needed for a rebound.
Seems "major," though. Something primal ...
Maybe a cup 'o tea and a call from Dorian ... .
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