Noise

I've figured it out, well at least PART of it out. I know what's been going on with me this last while, why I've been out of sorts. I've been letting the world in too much. I'm disconnected from my core beliefs. I've been wearing too many hats, doing too much stuff. I need to regroup, focus, reconnect. I have to start taking some time to just be alone with my thoughts. No tv. No book. No computer. Just me, checking in on myself and making sure I'm okay for 15 minutes to a half hour everyday. Call it meditation. Call it prayer. I like to think of it as corrective self-talk, but whatever you call it, I know it helps me. I know it makes me stronger. I've clearly missed it, noticed its absence in my life.

I know some people will think I'm a little off but I seriously think my messed up vibe blew up my computer and destroyed my life's work. If you recall I was having some serious back pain just before the black screen of death descended. I was stressed. I had lost my faith in the universe. Feeling tremendous financial and business pressure. Then my computer died and it was one of the worst things that could ever happen to a writer an editor, a magazine, a newsletter . . . and yet directly behind my horrified shock was relief, a huge sigh of relief not to have all those emails and files hanging round my neck every morning when I woke up. And then my back pain began to disappear.

And I was forced back onto the river, submerged into loud chaos and held prisoner there until I thought I would explode from all the noise. Reminding me of how much I value my solitude. Showing me how I've allowed noise into my sanctuary by not setting boundaries and sticking to them. It's a good lesson. I needed this. Everyone I know is dreading the morning tomorrow and the new beginning it represents, but not me. I can't wait. Can't wait to get on the road back home. Can't wait to be alone with myself.

Mood: tired
Drinking: nothing
Listening To: Come Pick Me Up, Ryan Adams, Elizabethtown Soundtrack
Hair: soon to be chopped by my own hand