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This is What Life Does...

This next piece because it is a chaotic stream of thoughts. I have been taught not to "introduce" the writing, but here, it's relevant.


I go back and forth between writing to the jump off line, "This is what life does", to being HUMAN and HUNGRY and DONE because was the third piece written that morning during Wild Writing Teacher Training (shout out to Laurie Wagner!) The line comes from the poem Starfish by Eleanor Lerman.


This is what life does.


Takes you and tosses you in the spin cycle only to shake you out to get straight and hurl you in the dryer. And those are the good days.


During the more unpredictable ones life hangs you on the clothesline on the side of the house because the tenants are saving energy. You come off the line stiff as a board, scratchy as sandpaper.


This is what life does.


Offers you a warm triple chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream and fudge sauce on your first date with your future husband after you’ve been celibate for three years because you were waiting for the one. Is the brownie a message?


This is what life does.


Puts you at a table full of strangers who each have their own stories but you’re not quite comfortable yet. Can they handle me, will I be too much, too loud, too honest? Push the boundaries of this process? Or my worst fear: will I fade into the background, because I am lackluster and unlovable?



This is what life does.


Offers lessons that I’m not sure I want to learn. Does this mean I will have to come back again? Because I’m not sure I’m cut out for that. Maybe I should just learn all the lessons and be done and then maybe I can rest on the other side for all of eternity.


Right here, right now my hand is tired and my tummy grumbly and I want some lunch and fresh air. This is so much to ask here. All of this writing and bearing witness has starved me of nutrition. Is it normal to cry every time someone shares their writing?

I didn’t sleep soundly, and Jim Morrison from a fellow writer's Airbnb, is he here? A few times I have felt someone touch my forehead. Is it Jim Morrison or does Laurie have a friendly ghost?


I have nothing left. I’m running out of gas. The fuel tank is empty I’m sputtering puttering. I’m OK with pulling over on the side of the road and calling AAA.


I want to be rescued.





Invitation: set a timer for 10 minutes using "This is what life does," and see what happens.


Love,

Michelle


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