I don’ run clean outta January.

I drank a glass of warm, red wine while I folded laundry tonight. I slowly folded and stacked the clean clothes waiting in baskets all around me while watching The Fall on Netflix.

This boring and uneventful update has been brought to you by a cycle of breakdown and rebirth. January. I’ve heard others calling this time, January.

This month brought me the loss of my beautiful boy, Charlie, the end to my regular roller derby habit and a move out of my current office space.
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While all of these decisions and a few more less important ones were being made (or made for me), I was also embarking on a period of research about my father’s death and funeral.

If you want to see a control freak flinch, change something.

This is me: flinching.

I carefully weighed my priorities. I sliced and diced until I found wider margins. I felt at peace as I let go of what I did not want. I made room for what I wanted more.

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Although I am content with my decisions, I feel unsettled.

I loved deeply those things I lost or chose to sacrifice.

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This week, my foundation scheduled therapy sessions for a seventh child survivor of sexual trauma. I’m still rehearsing for the Vagina Monologues.

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Shameless plug. #sorrynotsorry

Today, I added two thousand words to my memoir and spent the rest of the day mentally reordering my words. My house is clean(ish) and I have room to breath.

This is good.

This is the moment where you ask me if I’m trying to convince you or me.

Maybe both of us.

I have a good, whole life. A life where I am privileged to pursue my dreams within relationships that hold more magic than practicality.image

Welcome, February. Come on in.

January. I’m done with you.

Bye, Felicia.

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