This week. . .
Day 336: Late Fourth of July celebrations call for lemon bars.
Day 337: Home.
Day 338: Filming a video for Mum about cutting a chicken’s flight feathers.
Day 339: Grandma’s cactus in full bloom.
Day 340: Iced coffee and brownie sorta day.
Day 341: A wand my Grandpa made for the bookstore’s midnight release of the new Harry Potter book.
Day 342: I lay on the floor in my room next to a giant pile of markers. It was a hard headache day, and I knew we had company coming in the evening, so I shirked my chores and tried to make myself feel better instead, saving my ‘spoons‘ until I needed them. I just wanted to use those markers to make a giant mess–I wanted to draw what it felt like to have this headache day in, day out, not knowing if anything is helping or not, but no matter how much I scribbled, nothing was right. The markers, my feeble efforts of showing my days, they couldn’t show the pain, or the fear in not knowing what’s wrong. I’m no artist; I don’t draw; words have always been my thing, and so I flipped the page, and started writing. . . The more words I wrote, the more seemed to come. A jumble of emotions, thoughts, feelings. . . Unconnected words became connected, my heart, mind, hurt, the experiences this past year visiting doctor after doctor, trying one thing after another, all the frustration and confusion came together and made a beautiful mess of words. And it helped. It helped me to see that even a broken, tearful mess can be beautiful. Even a sorrowful situation can teach you things nothing else can. You never know what you can do until you have to. The pain will end. . . the courage you learn from that pain won’t.