We’ve been running on fumes the past couple of days.
My poor husband is in the hospital…
It’s the last day of 2020.
Update + a Spooky Poem
Instead of this graveyard of drafts I’m accumulating, I can go and tend to them, nourish the garden of my hard work, and revive them into newness.
There is time between waves of excruciating pain where I’m relaxed, even peaceful, because the waves have just turned into trickles and it’s more manageable.