Writing my stories, even in this relatively obscure way, where I know that maybe a few dozen people will happen upon these posts and read them now that this is no longer the hub of my creative life and teaching schedule, comes with no small amount of internal backlash once I hit the button to publish.
A part of me is off and running, forming new posts, pulling out other long buried memories. Ready to write it all out of my system. But the other part of me, maybe the wiser old crone inside of me even, is cautioning to take a slower approach.
These are wounds that I am opening, revealing, allowing to be exposed to the air and other peoples scrutiny for the first time in decades. They have not healed properly under cover of darkness. The exposure is painful and requires new dressing, salve to ease the inflammation, rest.
Wound care.
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