So glad to be home. I’ve got bone broth on the stove, a cat in the window, a planter box full of herbs on the veranda along with a spindly four-foot-tall tomato plant that seems to like to produce a single tomato at a time (I don’t think it gets enough sun), a river to walk next to every evening, and that drowsy progesterone vibe that feels a little like you’re at the bottom of a warm ocean.

Trying not to think about the possibilities because it can’t help but touch on the PTSD and then make me stress, then stress about stressing.

Just going through the daily motions, one day at a time. What will be will be. Something terrible and frustrating and expensive hasn’t happened yet, so there’s no need to feel bad yet. Something wonderful has never happened, so I don’t quite dare actually hope.

But today is a good day.


2 thoughts on “Chilling

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