Dru, in my comments, says I’m more self referential these days. And she doesn't even think that's a bad thing. I’ve been feeling like I’m in one long self referential whine. I didn’t really realize how hard it was going to be.
Hard is a relative thing.
I’m sitting in an office with a view of a creek. Squirrels dance around the yard and birds land on the feeder hanging right out side of the window. My belly is full of honey dew and oatmeal. Mom is doing the wersh (AKA the laundry) and Ken seems to be staying out of trouble. A fracas or two flares up between them now and then. I even have CSPAN on the TV and I’m reading blogs.
How hard is all this?
It worries me that I am so self referential. I think when I’m at home my self is expressed in ways in which I am not completely aware. At home it is all me. My timing. My choices. Here I feel like my self is on the back burner. Simmering.
And I come to my little blogger page and try to remember who I am.
You know. This is part of who I am. This family. Being here. Looking at the lamp that used to be on the table at my Grandmom’s house. The one with all the gold filigree and images of the Orient. I can almost feel my four year old fingers tracing the patterns on that lamp.
I pushed away from my family with a great force. I went to the other side of the continent and worked on my ….self.