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Today: I am a wide sea of emotion. I am a rainforest of tears. I am the moment the first sliver of blue tears through a week’s worth of cloudy days.

As someone who is an external processor, I so strongly value my ability to talk through challenges and experiences with loved ones. In many cases, the ability to process with someone is integral to my working through problems, challenges, and determining solutions. When I was given some news yesterday morning, I was informed not to discuss things with others, as it is a matter of legal confidence (that’s the stock phrase — “legal confidence”).

It occurs to me that while I have not discussed nor thought of these events in five years, I might not be so okay with them as I had thought. I spent so much time working through it all, but perhaps I was just working on telling myself I was working through them.

Which got me thinking: How often is it that I tell myself I am over something, when I am really not? How often do I say I am okay, when really I want to curl up in the arms of a loved one and cry until I fall asleep? How often is the problem hiding right behind my eyes, but no one looks close enough to see me?

So here I am. I am faced with one of the most difficult moments of my life, and I’m “tongue-bound.” Which is the one way I know how to work through my fears, dreams, hopes, and wonderment. Add to this the fact that my housemate (and closest friend) is out of town for work, and I am alone in the house for the week, and it becomes a challenge added to a challenge.

I took today off. It was grey all day, rainy, cool. Thunderstorms throughout the night. Thunderstorms in the afternoon. I slept in, because I needed the sleep. I got up, got dressed, ate breakfast. I felt like a trainwreck. I got my computer and my books (Fire Starter Sessions, Style Statement, Writing Down the Bones), a fresh cup of tea, and curled up on the sofa under my favorite chenille blanket. And there I stayed, reading and writing and keeping updated on Twitter. I watched a bit of the soccer game online (until it ended, or the streaming stopped, I can’t remember which). I napped with one cat, then another, then both. I got up and did some yoga, then got dizzy and sat back down. I cried. I slept some more. I scribbled so furiously in my journal I think I tore through the pages. I dreamed of art journaling and bookbinding and all the art I did at summer camp, and how much I want to do it again. I contemplated a bicycle ride in the rain. I chose against it.

I decided early this morning, when the BBC turned to NPR and I was awake again that I did not have to create a structure of obligations for today. I realized it was more important for me to accept where I am, what I need to take care of myself, and not force myself into being somewhere I most definitely am not.

I dream I am in a small studio apartment in Bombay. I am working on binding a book to be my next journal. I have my camera nearby, and take photos throughout the process. My American housemate is on Skype and we are talking for the first time in days. I have just come home from a week in the slums, staying with connections made through the temples. I spent two days at an orphanage for young girls who are already widows, taking their photographs and writing down their stories. My agent in the States is excited for me to start sharing some of the images on my website, getting my friends and readers excited about the book they will become. I hang up with M, put the journal in my book press, and prepare a quick meal of curry and rice before my next Skype with some sister bloggers. I am sending an email to the faculty of Squam about my upcoming workshop and travel details. I am uploading thousands of photos to my hard drive and burning backup disks. I am content. I am wrapped in silk and cotton and bamboo and saris I have sewed into blankets. I have a cup of tea and the sounds of the street quieting for the night. I am deeply, truly at peace.

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