Endigar 286

“Did you do your taxes?”

My apartment is dark, and my Father sits in his central place on the couch.  It took everything for me to get up out of my sacred Den where I go to seek spiritual contact.  Today, it was a protective womb, a private cell to hide my inner collapse.  The only place where the lights are on is in my daughter’s room.  She is happy.  Visiting with a friend.  Thank God.  I sent up a pitiful plea to just get up and be.  My submissive sends a text reaching out, sending love to her extended family.  I use the stark intrusion of my cell phone’s ring to move.  I asses my environment.  I join my Father on the couch in hopes of a real conversation.  The question he asks is simple, but filled with implications of my own personal impotence, the ultimate disappoint he must feel in seeing me flounder about.  No, of course I have not done the taxes.  Of course, I am late, even though I have had all the time in the world. 

So I leave the couch to come here, to write.  Writing seems to be the only thing in my life that gives me a safe place, a solid hold on a shifting world, a world that moves like a boa to suffocate me.  If I sit still too long it will find me.  It will take me.


My Father made some surface comment about the prospect of my daughter getting a job.  We are unable to connect.  He is trying to be polite.  He has been sleeping a lot today.  He is probably depressed himself.  I get up from my place beside him.  And come to you, oh blank screen.  And I feel him walk past me, return to his room, and to the solace of his bed. 

My daughter and her friend want food.  I have been a dud for them today.  And they are oblivious to my unfolding death.  A saving grace.

I had a conversation with my guide today.  It was good and seemed productive.  I have work to do.  I have learned that “Facts are my Friend.”  I have learned that co-dendency will keep me from seeing the truth.  He challenged whether I was actually invested in the useless ideas concerning Failure, since I keep drawing my children close to me.  Why would I do that if I was certain of my failure?  He has zeroed in on the fact that being a parent is the one thing I feel I have done right.  He uses that fact to keep me commented to this world.  And to this process.  I am trying.  I will try.

I have hungry girls depending on me.  Deep breath.  Get up Trinity, just get up.

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