Tuesday’s 200 Words: Where To Now?

I feel an obligation, a desire, to keep posting, but it’s challenging these days. I’m encountering life-altering problems.

I could start with a news story. Glenn Greenwald had a great column last week in reaction to the debates. Why don’t I just snap on my professional blogger face and write about that?

That would mean ignoring my tension, confusion and fear. Also nervousness and anger. Some jealousy. A lot of self-doubt. Grief. Guilt.

Ruth, none of these vague labels constitutes good writing.

I know. But I’m still too shell-shocked for the artist in me to get to work. If I forced myself to try poetry it would sound like this:

You left. You died. You’re silent and I don’t know what to do. I’ve fucked up—

Ruth, you can’t blog this shit. Besides, that’s not poetry.

Two years ago, when G was alive and we were becoming dear friends, Sam was in the hospital. I wrote a post about how all the people who loved her would keep her faith for her. Since G died, Mom has taken to reminding me of that post. She says she’s holding my faith for me. So there is hope.

I’ll try again later.

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