So. Something happened.
I already committed this to my private journal, so no need to belabor here. Suffice it to say, I am mourning, and I am masking.
I haven’t had the need in three years, and necessity compels me to do it now.
I’ve forgotten how uncomfortable it feels, yet I’m somehow better than ever at doing it. Maybe because I am building in breaks to take it off, idk.
I no longer feel safe.
What a privilege it was to feel safe.
This is what I’m calling this year, the sunset of my sixth decade, a year I never dreamed in a million years that I’d hit—it’s here, now.
I’m closing the end of my second year in my doctoral program by submitting my draft prospectus. Next comes approval and movement toward the proposal; then IRB, then God help me, I hope I can get people to talk to me.
I’m not there yet, but I’m a lot closer than I was two years ago.
I don’t know what comes next. Just trusting the process and that this is exactly where I need to be right now.
I’m sick. My voice isn’t working. That’s never a good thing. In a previous life, I must have been a prey animal, because the amount of anxiety sickness brings is beyond stupid.
It’s really of a piece. Maybe this was as good as it was going to get. Now to get ready for the pancake. Which sounds a lot better than it is.
The weather has been gorgeous, and all I can do is enjoy it through the window.
