Hello again.

I’ve been working on a new blog post for months. It is concrete, helpful, but cold, somehow off-putting. Every time go back to cut it I make it longer. Less tolerable. I know because even I get bored reading it. That’s the usual process of writing this blog – I falter but then make it happen.


I just can’t make this one happen. Not now.

So you’re getting “Hello” instead.
Maybe it happens to you.


I’m running from all the “shoulds” I set myself up for. On the lam. Depression seeped in under my closed door and is in my air. My son says it’s the dark of winter that steals hope. But the world outside. The horrors so many live, our humanity lost is the true dark of winter. Not my frame of mind sitting here, not my reality that just feels far away.

I’ve had so much joy in my life the past few months. Why do I retreat from it and sink into myself? I throw my arms open to embrace it, but come up empty. I’m just wrapping myself in myself. Maybe there is nothing else to do but live with that, and one of these days my arms will open. Or I will act as if they have.

I got a cold. Lost my voice. My mother, who’s also sick, can’t even hear me when I call her. My sister deals with my her needs and tells me not to worry. To take care of myself. I feel superfluous. have shut the doors.

Brain injury taught me about feeling useless. It lies in wait just under my thin skin.

But for now, I apologize to you. I’m tired of living with sorry but I’ve left you hanging and wanted to say why. I feel you out there. Want to keep the connection. To have the conversation. So here’s my word of the day:


It will turn to “Can” one of these days. I hope soon but tomorrow is a cypher when my chest is weighted down and it’s hard to move or breath. I am not telling you this so you will feel sorry for me. Since my brain injury people think it’s inspiring just getting on. I may be getting on, but for now I’m stalled. I want you to know I’ll be back. I know I will. And hope I’ll have something to say.

Thank you for listening.

Weather in My Head

Just between you and me, it’s been a bad weather week in my head

smooth-weather in my head-person dissolve PIXABAY no attribution

It’s another one of those days.
Today I’ve been tired since I got up
tired in the shower.
My head started aching soon after
threatening to become a migraine.
It did.

 “The fog comes in on little cat feet…” [Carl Sandburg]

Nothing gentle or stealthy when my fog comes in.
Another one of those mornings I wake up exhausted – more than when I went to bed
(too late) last night.

The pain started in my head, migraine on the horizon, taunting me.
I roll over in bed with the alarm. Head spins.
I get dressed and showered        
(Oh. No it’s the other way around)

If I don’t, I’ll be lost.

Rush not to be late but will leave too late anyway.
It’s the day I take the subway one stop too far.
Forget and get lost getting to where I go every Saturday.

Achilles. Walk around the reservoir. I want to do it alone.
Really I don’t know what I want.
But my guide is gentle – coming with me and with another guide [two for one]

I need to be in my own cocoon. Ear buds on, silent.
slowly slowly slowly trying to walk away the fog.
Be present.
My guides watch. 

They walk with me watching out for something whatever it is
My fog can be stormy, I can lose sight, lost
The murmur of their voices behind me
Talking to each other. But watching…

“Do you want me to warn you of dips in the road?”

“No… only if I’m walking into a moving vehicle.
“There may be tears but don’t ask me why” I say.

Unseen vaguely heard. They have my back
But I know they are there. I am not alone.

I will not go one stop too far.

Exhausted, I climb into the bus home –
head aches on the horizon return with a vengeance.
half a pill. and sleep
Yes, a pill.
a pain pill that also makes me sleep.
Because I can’t stay awake or anything but close my eyes
feel my head sharp and hurtful.

Tears and at a loss. What now?
I don’t know.

I do know it is a week of bad weather – weather I know too well

I forget, from one minute knowing and a second past.
What did I mean to do? to say?
Where is whatever it was I am looking for?

At least I remember to write this down.
At least I remember to tell you.

Laurie R.