i realized this morning, right after i (far too aggressively) tugged on my prized cashmere sweater- the one reserved only for days when you need extra comforting- and right before I stomped defiantly back in the direction of BED, that i am nervous to talk to you, body. i am squirrelly inside, agitated from the buildup up of thoughts +…
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dear body, something happened here.
dear body, i am building us a shelter.
dear body, when i first started writing these letters, it was mostly just a way to process all the health scares we’ve been having, a small but cathartic act of defiance against a growing new collection of diagnoses- a list that frankly, scared the shit out of me… literally. *deadpans to a camera that isn’t there* something shifted along the way…
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dear body, it’s all close to the surface now
It’s 10:18 on Monday morning and I am still lying in bed where I have been for the past 3 hours, both too tired to get up and too awake to sleep when my phone buzzes next to me. “Hi, mom”, I answer. “Hi honey. Okay, now listen, I don’t want you to get upset, but I was talking to…
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dear body, take the trip.
Dear Body, I love how you are fully awake and present when we are in new places. There’s something about new sights, smells, and sounds that makes you sit up and pay attention in a different way. Or maybe it’s just how Time takes on a new attitude… how it speeds up and drags on during travel. How it teaches…
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dear body, this goes both ways, doesn’t it?
Usually when I write these letters to you, Body, once I finally get it all out, then cut it back a little (a lot), deciding which parts to share and which parts are not for up public consumption, usually by that point whatever bit of tension, whatever that fussy energy is that you carry whenever you can’t write, it dissipates…
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